Insomnia
by Merlin7 M.N. Talbert
Summary: The events of The Siege and Runner catch up to Sheppard. Will his friends be able to help him? Spoilers for season two!
1. Chapter 1

Summary: The events of The Siege and Runner catch up to Sheppard. Will his friends be able to help him?

AN: Another WIP but this is almost complete so we won't leave you hanging for long on this one either!

**Insomnia**

By Merlin7 and Kodiak Bear Country

The blankets were annoying him. His pillow was annoying him. The mattress was annoying him. Oh, fuck it, the entire bed was annoying him. John kicked the blankets back, and tried to stretch out on his back, stuffing an arm under the pillow, trying to raise his head in a more comfortable position.

He closed his eyes, and vowed no matter what, he wasn't going to open them again till morning. His mind careened instead. Why hadn't he killed Ford? Coward, his mind screamed. He could've tried harder, but instead he'd let Ford escape – _no_, savagely, he thrust that thought away, because he hadn't meant to allow Ford an escape. He was going to end it, and maybe that's why Ford jumped into the culling beam. A loose cannon, unpredictable. Rodney had said that Ford was going to kill him, and if Ronon Dex hadn't jumped Ford when he had, McKay would be dead.

He opened his eyes. Damn damn damn! Caldwell was a bastard. Telling him to kill Ford. And being to chicken shit to outright say it. 'You know what you have to do', _coward_!

What was with this bed, anyway? Every lump was poking him in the back, and his neck was beginning to ache along with his head. If he could just get his mind to stop. Shut down, ctrl alt del, straight out of John Sheppard's manual for computer repair. If only it was that fucking easy.

He didn't sleep at all - well, maybe dozed a few moments, before another vision of the wraith leaning over him and yanking his jacket open in order to feed on him would snap him back awake. That one often paralyzed his body, playing tricks on him, and making his heartbeat speed rapidly. He thought he was dead, and he hadn't even been able to fight back, and then Ford and Teyla saved his life – _Ford_.

Oh, for god's sake! John tossed the blankets to the floor in a pissed huff, and stood up. It was 0430, and close enough to say the hell with it, and get some work done.

At 1600 hours he was in the briefing room, waiting to get the okay for the next mission. They were going to Dex's homeworld in search of weapons, and anything they could use weapon wise. The stunner pistols would be a nice addition, instead of the long awkward wraith stunners they'd managed to acquire over the previous year.

Sheppard wouldn't say he'd fallen asleep during the briefing, but maybe zoned out was a good word for it. His mind drifted, and his thoughts sneaked back to his suicide run, and last-minute rescue, then flashed forward to waiting for Atlantis to respond. Aside from the interlude on the Daedelus, events had unfurled with startling rapidity, and most of it had been a lot to handle.

"Colonel?"

John's head snapped to, and he focused on the room. "Where'd everybody go?" he asked, realizing he was the only one left in a chair.

Elizabeth frowned in concern. "The briefing finished five minutes ago, where were you?"

He exhaled loudly, pushing away from the table. "Didn't sleep good last night," he offered for an explanation of his daydreaming.

"Is this something I should be concerned about?"

He stiffened at her question. "I just had a bad night, Elizabeth. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one."

It wasn't as if over half the original expedition members weren't struggling to come to terms with the events of the past month, hell, past year would be more like it.

He started to leave, hoping she was done with him, but she called quietly after him, "John, if you need to – talk, I'm here."

He appreciated the offer, really, but he wasn't sure he was ready to take that one step closer move towards forming a deeper friendship with her. She was his boss, civilian or not, and he was expected to follow her orders. Then there was the whole aspect of keeping things bottled up inside. Sheppard was a private person, and he hadn't done a whole lot of letting people in, not even under the circumstances he'd been living since coming to Atlantis.

"Thanks," he responded regretfully. Because he knew he wouldn't take her up on it.

OoO

The mission was a bust. They'd wrangled a handful of stun pistols, and nothing else. Foodstuffs were either salvaged by other people, or ruined. Most of the weapons were gone. The entire city was a scraped out husk.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the headache that he'd never really shaken from last night. "Dial it up, McKay," he ordered.

"Sure you don't want to spend another hour enjoying the view?" muttered Rodney.

"No comments from the peanut gallery," retorted Sheppard.

Dex, for his part, was one hundred percent miserable, and standing stoically quiet. Teyla stood mutely by Ronon's side, as much under the depressing effect as Dex, because her own people had gone through the total destruction of their village, and how damn pleasant that was another product of John's actions.

They dragged feet through the gate, and the dejected air followed them all the way to the infirmary for the post-mission exam. Sheppard let Dex and Teyla go first, knowing their need for solitude. That left him sitting next to McKay, waiting for Beckett.

John stretched in the chair, crossing his feet at the ankles, and folding his arms across his chest. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a few minutes –

"That was a proverbial waste of time," grouched McKay. "Why we bothered going, when the MALP showed the wasteland in Technicolor, oh wait, bleeding heart Sheppard strikes again."

Sheppard cracked his eyes, and rolled his head to fix a dirty look on Rodney. "Stunner pistols, Rodney," he reminded. "Same effect as dead, not so permanent."

"Five, Colonel."

"Five's still five more than zero, isn't it?"

Rodney sat up straighter. "And five of those is going to make how much of a difference against the thousands of wraith?"

"That's the point, McKay – they aren't for the wraith."

Sheppard was rewarded by an alarmed look. "You're not going to use it on us?"

If he wasn't so irritable, this could've been enjoyable, but as it were – "Look, one for each team to take on missions. That way, if we run into Ford -"

"Colonel, ready for your exam," stated Beckett, patting the infirmary bed.

John stood up, his muscles aching with fatigue. "Sorry, Rodney, duty calls," he drawled unapologetically.

"This isn't finished, Sheppard!" said McKay. "Teyla told me those stun pistols are worse than the stunner rifles. No way am I going to be hit with one of those -"

"Then don't get in the way of one," said John reasonably, hopping on the bed.

Beckett grinned cheekily at McKay, before twisting the curtain around the bed, sealing them off from Rodney.

"Now, Colonel, anything to report?" asked Beckett, pulling on gloves.

"I've got a case of an extremely nagging physicist," Sheppard joked. "He's causing headaches, nervousness, irritability -" Carson had his stethoscope poised when he paused, and looked searchingly at John, causing Sheppard to squirm. "Just a joke," he said uneasily.

"Son, you look practically beaten, how much truth is there to those symptoms?"

On second thought, maybe he should've kept his mouth shut, thought John. "Headache," he said after debating whether to fib it off. He had two choices. He could push it to the side, and pretend it was nothing, and suffer another sleepless night with his mind running at 60 rpm, or he could cave in and admit the truth.

This hadn't been his first sleepless night. Third in a row, and he knew that it was starting to show. His reaction times were slower, he'd dozed during a briefing – he probably shouldn't have gone on the mission today.

"Look," he said, coming to a decision. "I've been having trouble," he hesitated. It wasn't in his nature to confess problems, even if it were to his doctor. "Sleeping, just - you know, falling off to sleep, because my mind doesn't want to settle down." He winced, could you jumble that explanation any worse? Christ.

But Beckett was nodding sympathetically, "Aye, and don't you think you're the only one, Colonel. My most prescribed medication right now is Ambien." At Sheppard's blank look he added, "Sleeping pill, Colonel."

"Oh," said John, not sure how he felt about that. "Will it work?"

Beckett pulled his shirt back in place, finished with Sheppard's exam. "You'll be sleeping like a wee baby in no time," he assured.

"Get your things back on, and I'll be right back with the pills."

Sheppard hopped off the bed, and slid his jacket on and started to buckle his thigh holster on his leg. He was finishing up, when Beckett returned, holding a small brown bottle. "Take two of these about thirty minutes before you want to sleep," he instructed. "It should give you around five hours or so."

John took the bottle gingerly, looking at it with some amount of trepidation. "And you're sure it'll work? Will I be able to wake up if something happens? You know, like a wraith invasion, or something equally disturbing?"

Beckett's lips twitched in amusement. "Most likely," he said. "But Colonel, no alcohol."

"Why Doc, you know as well as I do that there wasn't any alcohol allowed on the supply list."

"Aye, I do, but we've shared a few too many with Radek for me to believe that drink is anything but alcoholic, now, let me know if that doesn't work for you," he remonstrated. "And I mean it. We don't need our military head sleep deprived."

With a lopsided grin, John took the bottle and left, failing to notice the thoughtful stare of Rodney McKay, who'd overheard everything, as he walked out the infirmary doors.

OoO

After checking in with Weir, John headed to his room. He couldn't possibly imagine that he wouldn't sleep tonight. Between the pills and the fact that he'd had nothing but catnaps for over three days; if it didn't work, he'd beg someone to just shoot him, and put him out of his misery.

He took the pills, and decided to take a quick shower. After that, he settled in the bed, and lifted the book he'd been trying to finish since arriving in Atlantis. He started reading, and lost track of the time.

"_Ford, come back, and we can help you!"_

"_I don't think so, Sir."_

Sheppard bolted up in bed, and realized he was breathing hard. Holy shit, that was some nightmare. He'd been dreaming of the last confrontation with Ford, but then it'd morphed into Ford as a wraith, and he was trying to suck the life out of McKay, and it'd been all his fault because he hadn't killed Ford when he'd had the chance.

Jesus. So much for peaceful sleep, groaned John, realizing that he'd only been asleep for an hour or so, depending on when the book had slid from his fingers. He pushed the blanket off, and stood, staggering over to the sink to splash some water on his face. His head was pounding harder.

Screw the pills, he should've gone to Radek instead of Beckett. Somehow he doubted he'd be awake if he'd drank himself into oblivion. Granted, that'd be pretty stupid, because that'd essentially be drinking on duty, and it was a court martial offense. There wasn't any 'off' duty in Atlantis. The wraith wouldn't call ahead to set up a convenient time to attack.

Still – he was cruising for basket case if he didn't get some sleep, and soon. He eyed the bed warily. Should he even try again? He didn't think he wanted to be subjected to another nightmare like that. He'd had dreams before, nightmares, especially lately, but that'd been so vivid, he hadn't been entirely sure it hadn't happened when he'd woken up so abruptly moments ago.

Come to think about, what if McKay was in danger? What if that was some kind of subconscious shout for help? Aw, goddamnit – let's face it, he wouldn't get any sleep before he checked on Rodney.

Cursing his inability to relax, Sheppard sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. He always slept in pants, and his t-shirt, so he could go, and go fast. Giving a final disgusted look at the wrinkled sheets, John strode out of the room, off to find McKay. So much for night four –


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Dredd, I promise my manual for computer repair would love a P90 also. My computer is limping through the days lately. Mandy, what's very sad is this fic was started a while ago. Finally told Shelly we ought to start posting because it's the one thing that keeps me writing. Otherwise, I tend to procrastinate!

Everyone, thanks so much for the reviews, they are so much fun to read!

**Part Two**

John found himself practically running to Rodney's lab. Which was a very stupid thing to do. For the most part the corridors were empty, so he didn't get any funny looks for running around Atlantis at an ungodly hour. It was stupid because running made John's head hurt. But he ignored the pain and found himself in front of the doors to the lab. He didn't go directly inside. Instead John began to pace as he reconsidered why he was here. The rational side of his brain, the bit that wasn't completely sleep deprived, argued that it was ridiculous being here. Rodney was fine. He probably wasn't even in his lab given the hour. So John almost took a step back down the corridor, only to realize he couldn't walk away until he knew for sure. Until he saw Rodney alive and well for himself.

Heaving a sigh, John _thought_ the door open and stepped inside, only to freeze at the sight before him. Rodney was slumped over his lab table and he wasn't moving. John felt a cold spike of panic, laced with terror, and was about to run forward when he heard a sound that made him reach for his thigh holster. Only to recognize it for what it was. Rodney was snoring.

Relief washed over John in waves as he stepped over to McKay and gripped his shoulder. "Wake up!"

"Wha-what?" Rodney jumped and babbled and forced his eyes open. "Major?"

"Colonel," John reminded him. Again.

Rodney rubbed his eyes then glared at Sheppard. "Who cares? What are you doing here? What time is it? Why did you wake me up?" The questions were fired like bullets from a gun.

John winced and turned away. He really didn't want to answer any of them. Now that he knew Rodney was fine, he felt stupid. "I um...I was just passing by and heard a noise," he fibbed. "You shouldn't sleep hunched over. Bad for your back."

"Like you care," Rodney countered, even as he staggered to his feet and pressed a hand to his back while trying to stretch out the kinks.

"I care," John muttered beneath his breath. Maybe too much, he told himself. So he turned away and headed for the door. "Get some sleep, McKay!" John shouted over his shoulder. "It's late!"

Rodney blinked at his retreating form, looking a bit owlish. He looked confused and a bit peeved. "Same to you!" he shouted back, only for his words to bang against the door as it closed behind Sheppard's back.

oOo

After leaving McKay's lab, John wandered the hallways for a time, stepping into the transporter repeatedly, so he could explore different levels. He finally made his way out onto one of the balconies and watched the sun rise. He was way past tired now and he didn't know what to do about it.

Today was actually a day off for him and his team. A designated Sunday so to speak, which left John at loose ends. Which was a bad thing. It gave him too much time to overthink things. So he left the balcony and headed for the messhall. Maybe if he ate then showered then tried to sleep again he'd be okay. He felt a bit better having a plan of action and he was actually smiling as he entered the messhall and found Teyla in line before him. There were only a few other people around, given the early hour. John grabbed coffee and what passed for a danish and joined Teyla at her table.

"Are you busy today?" John asked her, as they sat down.

"Did you have need of me?" Teyla countered, as she poured syrup over her pancakes. A food John had introduced her too.

John shrugged. "Not really. I mean...if you're going to the mainland like you usually do that's fine. I just thought maybe we could fit in a practice session." Which was something he had just thought of. Exercise might make him tired enough to sleep without dreaming.

Teyla looked thoughtful for a moment, then she nodded. "I have something to take care of first, but we could meet in two hours? I will have time to go to the mainland after our session."

"That's perfect. Thank you." John grinned then took a big bite of his danish. It didn't taste as good as it looked, however, and he had to drain half his coffee to make it go down. John set it aside as he chatted with Teyla while she ate, then they parted company for the time being.

John figured he would check in with Weir and catch up on his reports, then he'd meet with Teyla. But when he headed for the transporter and the doors opened, Beckett stepped out. John caught the way the doctor was eyeing him, and sometimes he swore the man could read minds. "Morning, doc," John said, courteously.

Carson nodded. "Good morning, Colonel. Did you sleep well?"

"Um..." John considered outright lying, but knew he'd get caught out. There was no way he was hiding how tired he looked. "The pills didn't work," he confessed.

"Not at all?" Carson looked surprised.

John shrugged. "Slept about an hour before I woke up. Bad dream." He made a face.

Carson was tapping his chin as he studied Sheppard. "Okay then, we'll try something else. I want you to come to the infirmary tonight and I'll sedate you. I have something that will most definitely knock you out for at least eight hours. It's not something I'd normally do and I'm going to keep an eye on you, but it should do the trick."

"You mean you want me to sleep in the infirmary?" John countered. At Beckett's nod he shook his head. "Forget it. Can't you just give me a stronger pill?"

"No...I can't!" Carson's tone was sharp. "And you will come to the infirmary tonight, Colonel...or I'll tell Dr. Weir you're grounded. Which you will be if you don't get some sleep. Are you following me?"

John opened his mouth with every intention of protesting, but snapped it closed and simply nodded. He knew when he was defeated. Beckett could, and would, ground him. And if he didn't get some sleep soon, John knew he'd have to be grounded anyway. "What time?" he asked.

Carson glanced at his watch, out of habit no doubt. "Make it ten, unless you want to come in earlier?"

"Ten is good," John replied. "See you then." He stepped around Beckett and into the transporter. John figured he might as well tell Weir about what was going on. She'd find out sooner or later anyway.

oOo

After leaving Beckett, John did head for Weir's office, only she was in the middle of a meeting so he side tracked off to do his reports as intended. Time ticked by slowly then John was off to the gym to meet Teyla. He stopped by his room for his bag but still made it to the gym early. John stretched out on the window seat and let his eyes drift closed. He figured a catnap couldn't hurt. Only the minute he slid into sleep, the darkness shifted into shadows and the shadows formed into Ford and Sumner. Wraith-Ford. And this time he was sucking the life out of Sumner, who turned his old, pain-filled, eyes on John and whispered,

_"This is all your fault. You did this, Major. You destroyed us both..."_

"NO!" John felt the scream ripped from his throat even as his eyes flew open. He nearly toppled off the window seat, and would have had strong hands not stopped him from rolling. John blinked hard and found himself staring at Teyla's concerned face.

"Are you all right, Colonel?" she asked.

John scrubbed a hand over his face as he sat up, then he nodded. "Yeah...I'm good. Guess I dozed off for a moment."

Teyla eyed him with a narrowed gaze, studying him closely. "Perhaps we should postpone our session for another time," she advised.

"No...I want to work out. I'm fine!" John realized he was blowing his cool by sounding so desperate, but he didn't care. He stood up and fumbled in his gym bag for his sticks, then he moved to the center of the room. "I'm ready...let's do this," he invited.

"As you wish," Teyla replied, as she moved to face him.

Twenty minutes later, John realized what a stupid idea this had been. He was too tired to focus properly and Teyla took him down over and over again. This time he stayed down. "Okay...I give up," he panted at her, as she knelt down beside him.

Teyla nodded then smiled gently. "You have not been sleeping, Colonel. You are off your...game."

"Tell me about it." John accepted her hand and let her pull him to his feet. He then turned and stuffed his sticks back in his bag. "Guess I'll go shower and take a nap."

"You were dreaming," Teyla interjected, even as she moved to block him from the door.

John shrugged. "We all dream, Teyla." He did not want to have this discussion with her.

Teyla reached out and touched his arm, concern shining in her eyes. "If I can help you, I wish to do so."

"I know and...thank you." John knew she was sincere, but he also knew there was nothing she could do. "Look...I've already talked to Beckett and he's going to knock me out tonight. Just...kinda keep that to yourself...okay?"

"Of course." Teyla looked relieved. "Perhaps we can practice again tomorrow? After you have rested."

John smiled at that. "Absolutely. Once I get some sleep I'll be able to kick your ass but good."

Teyla chuckled. "Only in your dreams, Colonel," she replied, whapping him on the butt with her sticks as she glided by him. "I will check on you tomorrow, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." John knew he was lucky to have her as his friend. "See you later," he told her, before heading out the door. He felt worn out as he made his way back to his room and into the shower. Worn out enough to attempt sliding into bed and closing his eyes. But a heartbeat later they snapped open. The image of Ford was still dancing in his head. Heaving a sigh, John slid out of bed, tied on his boots, and headed out the door.

oOo

The last person John wanted to run into was Rodney. So of course McKay was the very person John ran into on his way to the infirmary. His day hadn't gone too badly, over all. John had finished his reports and did a few inspections. He cleaned his weapons, took care of a few security issues with Caldwell, then he managed to eat half his dinner before retreating to his room and wading through ten pages of War and Peace. But now he was faced with Rodney, who was eyeing him with something to suspicion.

"Where are you going?" Rodney asked, bluntly.

"None of your business," John shot back, before he could stop himself.

Rodney eyed him with suspicion, hands clasped behind his back as he rocked on his heels. "Let me guess...you're here to ask for more sleeping pills? Am I right?"

John felt his jaw drop. He snapped it shut then glared at McKay. There was no way the man could know about that. Yet, obviously, he did. "Who told you?"

"No one," Rodney drawled, looking pleased with himself. "Although you just confirmed it for me. Thank you. So...what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me!" John snapped, and instantly wished he hadn't. The throbbing pain in his temples slid behind his eyeballs and started banging with a vengeance.

Rodney snorted. "Please, Major. We both know there are infinite things wrong with you. But that aside—

John cut him off sharply. "It's Colonel now! Not major! Try and remember that!" And that said, John turned on his heel and marched into the infirmary. By the time he reached Beckett's office, John had a hand clamped on the back of his neck. It felt like someone had a vise clamped around his head. Right at this moment he was more than ready to be knocked out.

"Colonel? What's all the commotion?" Carson had come out of his office and he looked concerned. "Did I hear yelling?"

"Yes...you did." It was Rodney who answered. He looked worried. "_Colonel_ Sheppard was biting my head off. What's wrong with him?"

Carson stared at Rodney for a moment, then he looked Sheppard. "I left a pair of scrubs on the bed in the back corner. Get them on and I'll be in in a minute."

John was grateful to Beckett. He nodded slightly then moved off, leaving the good doctor to deal with one Rodney McKay. John didn't have the energy to do so, but he knew Beckett would deal with Rodney. After a good nights sleep, John would confront McKay and assure him he hadn't missed out on anything and that John was just fine. For now he was more than willing to strip off his uniform and pull on the scrubs. In fact, John was stretched out on the bed when Beckett showed up. "Is Rodney pissed?" John asked.

"He's...concerned," Carson replied. "He'd hate to have to train a new team leader." A smile curved Carson's mouth as he spoke. He then took Sheppard's vitals and he didn't look happy. "I think I'll start and IV, you're a bit dehydrated, Colonel. Then I'll give you the injection."

"Whatever." John was too tired to argue about it. He closed his eyes and Beckett moved around him. He didn't move or flinch when the IV was inserted, nor did he twitch when there was a sharp sting in his shoulder. "How long before I'm out?" John asked, as he felt a blanket draped over him.

Carson patted his shoulder. "Not long. Sweet dreams, Colonel."

John felt darkness creeping over him fast and he wasn't sure if he responded or not before he was dragged down into slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three The wraith ripped his jacket open, and plunged his hand down – 

_Ford jumped into a culling beam –_

_Sumner locked eyes, pleading for the bullet –_

_Everett, aged and feeble –_

"Son of a -" John bolted awake, swearing, and sweating.

Footsteps came running as his yelling split the quiet infirmary. His curtain was yanked open, revealing a nurse that looked as jolted as he felt.

"Colonel?" she asked.

He took a steadying breath, lying back, and tried to slow the pounding of his heart. "Sorry," he mumbled self-consciously. "Bad dream."

"I see," she said.

Sheppard figured she did. "What time is it?" groggily, he looked towards her wrist. He'd left his in his room.

Sympathetically, she answered what he was really looking to know, "You've only been asleep for less than an hour – about forty minutes."

Less than an hour? What the fuck? "I thought this was supposed to work?" The only reason he'd given in to being here was because he had thought a sedative would work. It was supposed to get him asleep, and keep him asleep.

The nurse bristled. "Colonel, everyone has different reactions to medication, and there is no certainty when it comes – Colonel, what are you doing?"

Sheppard was doing what he should've earlier – leaving. This was a stupid idea. Looking for help in the form of pills and shots; what good was that going to do when the real issue was his guilt. Guilt at failing those that depended on him. Sumner, Everett, Gall, Abrams – fuck! – Ford.

She reached for his hand as he began to pull off the tape securing the IV line. "Stop, Colonel -" frantically, she realized that Sheppard wasn't listening. "DOCTOR BECKETT!" she shouted, while trying to keep a hand over the needle. "Colonel, calm down!"

He heard more people scurrying their way, and swore again, Christ, he just wanted to go back to his room, find some privacy, and try to fall asleep without an audience. He stopped trying to get the needle out, and met the concerned gaze from Beckett.

"This was voluntary," he said coldly. "I want to leave."

"Aye," Beckett replied. "It was."

Was? Sheppard peered around Beckett, and said pointedly, "I'm sure you and your people have more things to do than babysit."

"Sure we do," he agreed amicably. Beckett waved his people off to cover the few patients that were sharing the infirmary with Sheppard. Once they left, Carson drew the curtain back in place, and pulled up a chair. He reached for John's arm, and pulled a roll of adhesive tape from the pocket in his coat. While he pulled off the mussed tape, and reattached new, he talked. "Colonel, this is more of a problem than either of us believed," he admitted. "That sedative should've kept you under for at least six hours."

"Why didn't it?" Sheppard wanted to know, he really did, because this not sleeping crap was beginning to wear him down, and he knew it.

"That's a good question." Finishing the last bit of tape, he stood up, and adjusted the drip, straightening Sheppard's blanket and arm. "But more importantly is the question, 'what do we do now'?"

"I go back to my room, and try again," answered Sheppard reasonably.

The tight-lipped smile from Beckett did little to reassure John. "No," Carson crossed his arms. "We will use a heavier duty sedative."

"_We_ don't want a heavier duty sedative," grunted John.

"_We_ don't have a choice," retorted Beckett. "As your doctor, this is my call."

"God damn it, Beckett! That's not fair, and you know it. I came here in good faith, not to be drugged to the gills." Sheppard didn't want a higher dosage. Sedatives left you groggy, queasy – not rested and ready for a new day. How could he do his job if he felt drugged and lethargic?

Carson did understand John's frustration. He was tired, irritable, and suffering from sleep deprivation. Sedatives, the higher you went, became less restful for the body, and a last resort, but – if it could break this cycle that John's body had slipped into, it might prove worthwhile.

"Colonel, I realize this is more than you bargained for, but this isn't to be taken lightly. Physically, lack of sleep can cause hallucinations, mania, weight-loss, slowed motor skills -"

"I'm not hallucinating," John said flatly. "And I'm not experience any mania, at least that I know of."

"No, but you are experiencing an inability to stay alert. Teyla said you had fallen asleep in the exercise room, Elizabeth told me about your blanking out in the briefing – I should've grounded you then, but I didn't realize it was anything more than boredom."

"And he's definitely irritable," said McKay.

Sheppard looked up from his blanket covered feet, and his face contorted into a disgusted frown, "Get out," he snapped. This was ridiculous. It was bad enough being in this situation; he didn't need the entire city knowing about his problem.

"No," said Rodney succinctly.

John raised an eyebrow, and glared dangerously at McKay. "No?"

"No," repeated McKay.

"Rodney," began Carson, thinking maybe his presence might be better off somewhere else.

The angry force that is Rodney McKay rounded on the doctor. "No, I'm not leaving. Sheppard is the leader of my team, and therefore, I'm directly affected by what's going on here, and furthermore, as head of the science division, I work closely with the military side in the exploration of Atlantis. I have every right to be in the loop, as does Elizabeth; where is she, anyway? Does she even know what's going on here?"

Beckett jerked his head, and his eye twitched. "Yes, Rodney. Colonel Sheppard informed her before coming back to the infirmary earlier."

Except Colonel Sheppard hadn't informed her. "Uh, about that -"

Carson closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He counted to ten, and opened his eyes. "You didn't tell her, did you?"

"I got sidetracked, okay?" responded John defensively. "Remember, sleep deprived? You shouldn't be leaving these things up to me."

"She'll find out in the morning, then," said Beckett, knowing that Weir wouldn't be happy finding out via report, but the only alternative was to wake her now. "It's in my end of the day report."

"Look," tried Sheppard again, "This is a mistake. Really. I'm sure as tired as I am that I can sleep now." He threw the blanket off his legs, and swung into a sitting position. "In fact, this was all a misunderstanding -"

It was about then, that Sheppard's world began to get a little confused – blurry even. "What -" he slurred, and turned dopey eyes towards Beckett.

Carson sighed, and opened his palm showing a hypodermic – an empty hypodermic. "McKay, get his legs," ordered Beckett, reaching forward for John's shoulders. "Sorry, Son, we'll see you when you wake up."

Sheppard had every intention of arguing, protesting the doctor's treatment, but his eyes had already closed, and he was falling into a drugged, dreamless, slumber.

OoO

Elizabeth stormed into the infirmary at 0700 hours. "Carson!" she snapped, looking around. She didn't see the doctor, but she did see a curtained off bed, and with a sneaking suspicion, headed that way.

Pulling it back, she was rewarded by the sight of Sheppard, stretched out and unaware. Next to him, McKay lay propped in a chair, his feet hitched on one of the bed rails. So, McKay knew as well? Seems she was the only one who didn't know –

Her scowl tightened, and she stepped out, turning towards Beckett's office, when she walked into the man she was seeking.

His warm hands caught her arms, and steadied her. "You read the report?" he said warily.

"I did," she replied, forcing the anger out of her tone. "What I find curious is how everyone else seemed to know about Colonel Sheppard's treatment."

"The only reason Rodney knew was because he followed Sheppard to the infirmary last night," placated Beckett. "He came back later, when I had to use a larger sedative to keep Sheppard under."

"Teyla informed me this morning that Sheppard spent the night in the infirmary, and asked me if _I_ knew how he was doing."

"Oh," said Beckett, "now that makes things a bit of a munch, doesn't it?"

"For you," she replied evenly. "Carson, I need to know these things before I read it in the reports the day after the fact."

In self-preservation, he considered admitting that Sheppard had said he'd tell Weir, but then again, Sheppard wasn't in great shape, and if he got down to it, it was Carson's responsibility. Sheppard was his patient, and he'd known the man wasn't firing on all cylinders right now.

"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry."

She appeared mollified, and the irritation mutated to concern as she asked, "How is he?"

The sound of retching, and Rodney hollering, "Help!" drew both of them running to Sheppard's bedside.

The object of their worry was leaning over the bedrail, heaving, vomiting all over the floor. McKay was hunched in his chair, feet pulled up into the seat, to avoid the splatter. "Help him," he ordered. "Basin, enema, whatever it takes!"

Carson rolled his eyes, as he gestured for a nurse to come over. He found a basin in a cabinet, and carefully avoiding the mess on the floor the best he could, eased the miserable Sheppard back on the bed, lifting it into a titled position of about 45 degrees. "Easy lad, you're having an unpleasant reaction to the sedative."

"Unpleasant?" spluttered McKay. "Carson, he just emptied two gallons of stomach contents on the floor!"

"McKay," called Sheppard weakly. "You're not helping."

"No, he isn't," agreed Beckett.

The nurse arrived with another hypodermic, and pushed a bucket of water and a mop. Seeing the needle, John paled further, which was saying a lot.

"Not another one," he objected.

"It's an anti-emetic," soothed Beckett. "It'll help with the nausea."

Carson injected the medicine, and reached for another bag of saline solution. He hung the bag, and pulled the nurse aside. "Nothing by mouth for two hours, start with ice, if tolerated, move to water. Continue the saline until he can eat and drink normally again."

As he was giving the nurse instructions, Elizabeth found a washcloth, and after wetting it, handed it to John so he could wipe his mouth. He took it gratefully, and wished everyone would just leave him alone. After cleaning his face, he leaned back as far as he could, and closed his eyes, hoping the message would get through.

A soft touch on his shoulder. "Get some rest, John," whispered Elizabeth, and cracking his eyes open, he saw her walk away, gesturing for Beckett to follow her. One down, one to go, he thought, noticing McKay stubbornly residing in the chair.

Rodney's lips twisted in a satisfied grin. "You wish," he said.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" asked John tiredly.

"Because you wouldn't."

Sheppard's mind was sluggish, so it took a moment for him to get what McKay was trying to say. And when he did, John had to admit Rodney was right. If the shoe was on the other foot, he'd be parked right there – okay, maybe not _right_ there – probably across the room. Out of vomiting distance.

For a physicist, McKay was pretty stupid. Loyal, but stupid. Either that, or his sense of smell wasn't that great.

"Fine, you win, just -" John searched for the right words – "don't stare, and don't hover, and don't get in my way."

Rodney snorted. "Major – Sheppard, Colonel – god, why did they have to promote you – I assure you, as the only way to 'get in your way' would be to crawl in bed with you, I shall remain firmly 'out of your way', and as for staring and hovering, don't flatter yourself, I have work to do. I'm only sticking around to make sure Carson doesn't break you."

If Sheppard had felt better, he would've enjoyed needling McKay about Beckett. But as it were, he felt groggy, still slightly queasy, and overall pretty damn shitty. He let his eyes shut again, but found despite the medicine and after-effects of the sedative, that sleep was still elusive –


	4. Chapter 4

AN: What can I say but thanks for the reviews, Shelly and I are both reading them and enjoying them immensely! This story was started a long time back, but like our others we are always writing other fics and we tend to get a lull, but we've started back up and it's nearing the end so finally almost complete. I think it was not that long ago on the SGAHC list where somebody requested a fic that showed Sheppard breaking down from the events of season one and the beginning of season two, and that's what we are going for in this, to really show the emotional wear and tear on the man.

Dr. Dredd, I sympathize on the laptop. My desktop is limping, crawling, sputtering on its last legs, but it's like the little engine that could, because just when I think it's done for, it keeps on going! We've fed it more DRAM, had to replace the power supply, but now it's begging for a bigger hard drive and a new video card. Personally, I think it's a needy wench, but we'll cave and give in to its demands. sigh

**Chapter four**

OoO

_You should have killed me when you had the chance, sir..._

_What are you talking about, Ford? _ John stared at the younger man in confusion

_I've changed, more than you know. I'm one of them now..._

_What?_ John took a step closer, then another. Ford was in the shadows and John couldn't see him clearly. Another step closer and suddenly Ford was in his face and John reared back at the sight of him.

Wraith Ford smiled cheekily_. Now do you understand what you've done?_ he asked_. Now I must kill them all..._

_NO! _ John watched Ford turn and run off. He followed as fast as he could, racing through the corridors of Atlantis. But he was too late. He stumbled over the bodies Ford left behind. Weir, Teyla, Beckett, Ronon, Rodney

John snapped awake, gagging on the cry that tried to erupt from his throat. Gagging on acrid bile as well, and he swallowed hard as he sat up and rubbed his arms. They were slick with sweat and he was cold, achingly cold. And tired. John realized he must have finally fallen asleep but he had no idea for how long. He glanced over to his right but Rodney was gone. Everyone appeared to be gone.

Shoving back the covers, John slid from the bed. His knees buckled the moment his feet hit the floor but he locked them into place then went to work yanking out the IV needle. Fighting back nausea, John slipped out of the infirmary, using the back exit, which was near the bathroom. Once out in the corridor he headed for the nearest transporter and he breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to his room without being caught.

Once inside, John locked the door then headed straight for the bathroom. He puked until he got the dry heaves then he rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth. Next up was a shower and it took a lot of effort to stay upright. John cursed his weakness but he did feel a bit more human by the time he stumbled out and got dressed. He wished he knew what time it was, but he'd left his watch in the infirmary. No matter, no one had come after him yet but he knew it was only a matter of time. Knew as well that what he was doing was stupid, but his thoughts were muddled and cloudy and at the moment all he wanted was some fresh air and some time to himself to sort things out.

With that in mind, John strapped on his thigh holster and headed out the door. He had come across a deserted area of the city about a month ago. He would hang out for a while and figure out a way to get the demons out of his head so that he could find some peace and finally sleep.

oOo

"He's gone."

Elizabeth tapped her ear piece as if she had heard wrong. "Gone? Who's gone?" She knew even as she asked.

Carson's sigh was heavy, even through the radio. "Sheppard. He was sleeping and Rodney went off to his lab. I didn't think I had to watch him every minute--"

"I get the point," Elizabeth interjected. "I'll send some people to look for him. And while they're doing that I want you in the conference room, Doctor. We need to discuss Colonel Sheppard."

"That we do." Carson clicked off.

Elizabeth sighed then she contacted Caldwell, who had just returned with the Daedalus and more supplies and crew members. She then called Teyla and Ronon and Kate Heightmeyer. They had to find a way to help John. Then she called Rodney and explained about Sheppard going AWOL.

Rodney cursed. "Damn fool. Don't worry, Elizabeth, I will find him. I'll need Ronon, in case the Colonel decides to be stupid. Which...he will. Send Ronon to my lab, I'll be ready by the time he gets here." With that Rodney tapped off.

"Okay," Elizabeth said to the empty room, then she clicked to contact Ronon who agreed to help McKay. The Runner still wasn't too sure about working with the Astrophysicist. Elizabeth understood why. Rodney was an acquired taste. Shrugging off those thoughts, Elizabeth left her office for the conference room. Within five minutes everyone was present and accounted for. "We're here to discuss Colonel Sheppard. For those of you who don't know, he's become sleep deprived and Dr. Beckett has been unable to help him break out of the cycle. And if that wasn't bad enough, Sheppard has disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Teyla queried.

Elizabeth nodded at her. "Yes, he slipped out of the infirmary but Rodney and Ronon are searching for him. I'm sure they'll find him and deliver him back to the infirmary ASAP. That said, I need you to help me figure out a way to help the Colonel. I'm open to any and all suggestions."

Caldwell spoke up first. "You've tried knocking him out?"

"Yes...that's not working. He's resisting the drugs." Elizabeth was not happy to have to report that. Especially to Caldwell.

"So I take it he's grounded at the moment?" Caldwell shot back.

Elizabeth nodded. "Obviously." She turned her attention from Caldwell to Kate. "Do you think Sheppard's problem is psychological?"

Kate frowned then nodded. "I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. "Colonel Sheppard has had a lot to deal with since coming here. I've read his files and he had a lot to deal with before coming here as well. To be honest, he's the only original Atlantis team member who hasn't been to see me since we got here."

"Do you think you can help him?" Elizabeth prompted, hopefully.

"Not unless he wants my help," Kate replied. "But I can talk to him."

Elizabeth nodded. "I'd like you to do that." She turned her attention back to the others. "Any other ideas?"

Teyla held up her hand. "I may have something that will help. I will need to go to the mainland to find the ingredients and to speak with Halling."

"What's your plan?" Elizabeth queried.

"There is a special tea that Halling was taught to make. It helps one to sleep without dreaming," Teyla replied, but she looked uncomfortable.

Elizabeth picked up on it. "You don't seem certain about it."

Teyla made a face. "It can have side effects. They vary from person to person. The tea is very potent."

"What kind of side effects?" Elizabeth prompted. She didn't like the sound of that.

"It makes some people ill, it can also intensify their sexual awareness. Things along those lines," Teyla finished.

Elizabeth sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming on. "Go to the mainland and get the tea. Dr. Beckett can analyze it before we consider giving it to Sheppard."

Teyla rose from her seat. "I will go right now." And with that she as out of the room.

"Anyone else?" Elizabeth asked. No one replied. Elizabeth waved them away. "Dismissed." She watched them file out of the room then an idea occurred and she tapped her ear piece. "Dr. Zelenka, could you come to my office?" she asked. Then Elizabeth headed straight there. This was going to be a long day.

oOo

With the life signs detector in hand, it didn't take Rodney long to narrow down the possibilities of where Sheppard might be hiding out. But it still took four hours for them to find him and when they did he was not happy to see them.

"I'm not going back!" John belligerently snapped at them.

"You have to go back." Rodney had no time to be nice. Although he considered changing his mind when John tapped his Beretta. "You need help and you know it, Colonel!" Rodney retorted angrily. Because when he was scared he got pissy. And he was scared. He knew how dangerous Sheppard could be and the man was not thinking straight at the moment. He looked like hell, too. Death warmed over. Too pale and swaying on his feet. But Rodney sensed he would still be accurate enough if he decided to start shooting.

John glared at Rodney. "I need some peace and quiet!" he shouted. "I need to be by myself! It's too loud in the infirmary. Too many people just...staring...they stare at me. I hate that!"

Rodney opened his mouth to speak again but found himself shouldered back by Ronon.

The warrior held Sheppard's gaze. "You need to quiet the demons," he said, his voice a soft rumble.

John nodded. He realized that Ronon understood, perhaps better than anyone. They were both soldiers. They had both done things to protect and to survive. "Once they're quiet I'll be able to sleep."

"You can't run from them. They will find you here," Ronon countered.

"I know." John let himself slump against the wall. He was so damn tired. He rubbed a hand over his face then looked at Rodney. "Sorry for yelling at you. I know you're just trying to help. The thing is...you're not. Okay? So please...just leave me alone for a while. I'll go back in a few hours."

Rodney started to shake his head, meaning to explain all the reasons why Sheppard had to go back now. But even as he watched, Sheppard's body started to fold. Rodney took a step to catch him but Ronon was already there, scooping Sheppard up into his arms. Rodney knew Sheppard would hate being carried and he half considered telling Ronon to put the man down until they could call for a gurney. But Ronon was already on the move so Rodney fell into step behind him, reaching up to tap his radio so that Elizabeth would know that Sheppard was safe.

oOo

John knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. Knew he was back in the infirmary and that he wasn't alone. He opened his eyes and checked things out first. IV taped to back of one hand - check. Stupid pink scrubs - check. Rodney in the chair...wait, no check. Elizabeth was sitting there. He winced at the concern in her eyes. "Hey," John offered in greeting.

"Hey yourself." She rose from the chair to stand beside him. "How do you feel?"

"Shitty. How long was I out?" As he asked John noticed that Elizabeth was gripping the side rails. He hadn't known the beds had side rails. They sort of made him feel trapped.

Elizabeth touched his shoulder, to focus his attention on her. "About an hour. That seems to be your wake up point."

John knew that all too well. "Yeah...well...at least I didn't dream this time. Can I leave now?" He knew what she was going to say but he had to ask.

"Not happening," Elizabeth said softly. "Here's the deal. You're going to talk to Heightmeyer -

"NO!" John cut her off, harshly. He didn't have anything personal against Heightmeyer, or shrinks in general, but he knew the woman wouldn't be able to help him. She wouldn't be able to understand his brand of demons

Elizabeth narrowed her gaze at him. "That's not a request, John," she stated. "You'll talk to Heightmeyer and after that Carson has something new he's going to try."

John wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "New drugs?"

"Athosian tea," Elizabeth replied. "Teyla said it works well with her people. Carson tested it and he deemed it safe."

"Fine...whatever." At this point John was ready to try anything. "But how about tea first then Heightmeyer? I mean...if the tea works then I won't need to talk to the shrink."

Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest and simply stared at him.

John winced and closed his eyes, willing oblivion to claim him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

The fact that oblivion didn't claim him, well - life had a habit of sucking that way lately for one Colonel John Sheppard, he thought irritably.

He'd tossed and turned. He'd squeezed his eyes shut, and straightened his body till it was a vertical scaffold, but even reduced to counting sheep turned out to be an exercise in futility. When the sheep mutated into livestock caricatures of wraith, he gave up.

"I see you're up," said Beckett.

John opened his eyes. Who knows why he still had them shut. It wasn't working. Pointless. But maybe the guise of sleep offered what small protection he needed against the obvious downfall of his mental status. Insomnia was killing him. Maybe not physically, but Christ, it'd been what – five days? He was beginning to lose track. Five days, with an hour here, and an hour there. He was finding it hard to even form a coherent thought.

"Colonel?" prodded a worried Beckett.

"I'm up," he agreed, but with a distracted uncertain way that made one think he was almost asking if he really was awake.

"And that's the problem, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Doc?" asked John tiredly. Beckett frowned, and that's when John noticed the large mug he held in his hands. "Is that the magic brew?"

Beckett didn't take the bait. "Drink it all, Colonel."

John took the mug, and the heat from the tea alone made him feel sleepy, but feeling sleepy wasn't the problem. It was staying asleep. He gave it a tentative sniff, smelled like candy apples almost, from the carnivals he'd gone to as a kid.

"It's not poison," grouched Beckett, watching Sheppard wrinkle his nose and inspect it as if he were being handed a glass of cyanide.

"Just checking," defended John, before taking a drink. He choked, and liquid went spewing out of his mouth. Not like candy apples then; shaking, he wiped his mouth, and handed it back. "That tastes awful!" Not just awful, really awful, like drinking a glass of Tabasco sauce.

"Aye, it may bloody well be awful, but you will drink it!" Beckett shoved the cup back towards John.

"I won't be able to," he vowed. "I'll throw it up before I get the cup finished." And Teyla had offered this as a solution? He'd have to ask her what he'd done on the last mission to create the hatred he was feeling in that little mug of death.

Beckett, for his part, was looking less than patient. "Colonel, you're grounded, you're about to see the psychologist, you're seriously sleep deprived -"

"I got it," snapped Sheppard, interrupting the doctor's diatribe. Damn, shit, fuck, and all those colorful words that fit the current situation. He grabbed the cup again, before he could back out, and downed it in one large gulp.

He remembered vaguely throwing the cup away from him, coughing, and gagging, and fighting like mad to keep the contents in his stomach. It felt like forever before he managed to get his gag reflex under control. Shaking, he wiped his hand at the saliva dribbled down his chin, and wiped his other hand across his watering eyes.

Beckett handed him a towel, and smiled weakly. "Sorry 'bout that, lad. Teyla told me it had a bit of a kick to it."

"A bit?" coughed John, taking the towel and trying to restore his dignity. It was then that he noticed his lips had gone numb. That alone wouldn't be alarming, but the fact that it was beginning to spread. His cheeks were getting all tingly, and he felt a hot flush beginning to radiate from his head downward. He swallowed, and tried to focus suddenly blurry eyes on Beckett. "Doc?" he called uncertainly.

"Colonel?" Beckett reached for John, just as he slumped forward. "Son?"

"I feel funny," slurred Sheppard. "Is it hot in here?"

"No, it's not hot in here," muttered Beckett, trying to keep Sheppard from folding on to the floor. He pushed the man backwards, trying to get his torso over the mattress, instead of hanging on him. "Nurse!" Carson was having a hard time with John's drugged weight. "Get Teyla here now!" He'd known it might affect John similar to an intoxicant, but he'd asked the lab to dilute the tea to ensure it wasn't too potent for Sheppard's physiology.

Beckett finally managed to get Sheppard in his bed, and pulled the bedrail to keep him from rolling off. "There's a good man," said Beckett, patting Sheppard's shoulder.

"S'right, I'm a g'd man," drooped Sheppard comically. "I din't mean f'r them to die."

"Who to die?" asked Carson, suddenly alert. Was this maybe what was going on inside of the soldier's psyche? Beckett wasn't Heightmeyer, but as a doctor, he knew about post-traumatic syndrome and the effect of survivor's guilt. Sheppard was an internalizer, and those were often the most vulnerable for these disorders.

Sheppard clumsily reached for Beckett's hand, patting him back. "S'ner, Gall, Abr's – Ford," he said happily. "All of 'em." John was flying higher than a kite, and though the sorrow was deep, he was in another state of mind, and everything seemed easier to talk about, and then it'd all be better. He just knew it. "D'y kn'w I see him kill every'ne?" asked John sloppily.

"Who, Colonel?" asked Beckett quietly. He pulled up a stool, and raised it to bed height, so he could hold Sheppard's hand.

But Sheppard wasn't watching Beckett anymore. His eyes were staring up at the ceiling, unfocused, his thoughts elsewhere. "F'rd." The hazel eyes turned away from the tile, and pierced Carson's soul. "Secur'ty risk, lose can'on," Sheppard's dreaminess slipped into pained petulance, and he raised himself on an elbow, facing Carson. "D'you know that bast'rd Cald'ell had the n'rve to say 'you kn'w wha to do'?"

Carson closed his eyes. Damn, just bloody goddamn unfair, all of this business. "Did he, now?" he said, opening his eyes, and forcing an enigmatic tone.

Sheppard pointed a loose finger, "Y'u bet he d'd" before collapsing back on the bed. "F'rd 'as jus' a kid!"

"Doctor Beckett, you called for me?"

Carson swung the stool around, releasing Sheppard's hand. "Teyla!" he exclaimed. He'd gotten so drawn in to Sheppard's rambling he'd forgotten. He tried to blink away any glassiness in his eyes. "It's – uh – Sheppard, the tea, it -" he stood up and adjusted his coat, " – he's having a pretty big reaction to it."

Teyla peered around Beckett, and found Sheppard staring dazedly at her. He grinned and waved uncoordinatedly, and grinned. "Hi, Te'la."

She nodded her head, smiling tightly, "Colonel." Turning away, she tugged on Beckett. They walked a few feet away, and she confessed, "Doctor, the tea can react differently for some. It may cause giddiness, a kind of -" she struggled to find the right word.

"Intoxication," supplied Beckett.

"Yes," agreed Teyla thankfully. "That is a good description for it."

"But will he sleep?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. Unfortunately, in individuals who react strongly, it can sometimes have an opposite effect until it wears off."

"Bloody hell," swore Carson, running a hand through his hair, and scrubbing at the irritable itch that was growing over his scalp. Who would've thought a case of insomnia could be so troublesome? "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her demeanor stiffened. "I believe I did, Doctor," she said frostily. "And you said the lab would dilute the mix to ensure that negative effects could be mediated by wearing off sooner."

Beckett's brow wrinkled in concentration. Had she told him? He recalled his instructions to the lab, but –

"Hang on," he snapped. "Teyla, his behavior, diluted it shouldn't be that dramatic, should it?"

"No, it should not," she said.

A hand on her backside caused Teyla to yelp, and forget what else she was going to say. She reached for the arm snaking around her neck, and flipped the attacker forward, out of instinct, and groaning inwardly as she watched Sheppard's body go sailing over her shoulder.

John lay on his back, not moving, and blinking furiously at the stars only he could see. Two faces materialized over him.

"Colonel?" asked Beckett worriedly.

"I am sorry, Colonel," said Teyla, kneeling by his side. "Are you hurt?"

"On'y my 'eart," slurred Sheppard, placing his hand over his heart. His eyes widened, and he reached up, grasping Teyla's head, and pulling her towards him.

Teyla pulled back, so suddenly, that she fell on her ass.

"Nurse!" shouted Beckett, reaching for Sheppard, as he got on his hands and knees and tried to move towards Teyla. "Colonel, what's wrong with you?"

"N'thing," growled John, still focusing blearily on Teyla, even as she got to her feet and took a few steps away. "I jus' wan' a tal' with my g'rl."

The nurse had arrived, and together they were able to manhandle the drugged Sheppard back to bed. Beckett gestured at the nurse to attach the restraints. "Now, laddie, this is just for a wee bit, till we get you in your right mind," cautioned Carson.

"I'm in my ri't min'," growled Sheppard, and he kept staring at Teyla as if she were a culinary delight on a menu for two.

Carson rolled his eyes. Despite the worry over Sheppard, the situation was proving to be as comical as it was frustrating. "An' I'm the Queen of Scotland," muttered Beckett.

Sheppard's eyes widened. "I did't 'now you were roy'lty?"

Beckett groaned. He needed to talk to the lab personnel – now. Something was not right. He tested Sheppard's vitals, not surprised to find his blood pressure up, breathing increased, and temperature elevated. Nothing in dangerous levels, but this was having too much of an effect.

"Teyla, stay with the Colonel, I need to go talk to the lab," he ordered. "I need someone who can handle him in case he gets – unruly," said Carson with tired acceptance.

Carson noticed she nodded yes, but remained out of reaching distance, despite Sheppard's restraints. He gave his head a small shake to himself, and left the infirmary.

OoO

"Dilute?" asked the lab technician, confused. She pulled the paper from the binder with Beckett's request. "It says here 'double'," she said, pointing out the instructions in bold script.

"Double!" exploded Beckett. "You damn fool! That's 'dilute'!"

The tech straightened, glaring. "Excuse me, Doctor, but that is not dilute, that is d-o-u-b-l-e, _double_,"

Carson opened his mouth to berate the technician for learning to read by mail order, but snapped his mouth shut. He snatched the sheet, and studied the script. He turned it, held it close to his eyes, then away – bloody hell – it did look suspiciously like double, though he knew he'd written dilute. His damn handwriting. Tightening his jaw, he thrust the paper back, and stalked out. They should've called. They knew he'd said 'dilute' when he'd given the paper. If his verbal didn't match the written, they should've checked.

Bloody, bloody, and another damn bloody hell. _Double!_

OoO

John couldn't remember ever having a headache this bad – if you didn't count concussions, that is. It was massive, pounding, crippling – "Beckett," he tried to call, but it came out more like a whimper.

"Aye?" the soft voice spoke from John's right.

He cracked a wary eye open, and rolled his head slightly to the side. Bad fucking idea. His stomach rolled with him, and he bolted upright, reaching for the basin that Beckett was already a step ahead with.

He heaved, and brought up some god-awful spicy liquid that burned, along with bile. He was shaking, and shivering, when Beckett finally eased him down, taking the nasty smelling mess away and handing it off to a nurse.

"Just shoot me now," he groaned. "All I asked for was something to help me sleep." His voice was edging into desperate pitifulness.

"It'll pass," soothed Beckett, reaching for a wet rag, and wiping John's forehead. "I'm afraid ye got a bit too much of that Athosian tea."

Athosian tea – the disgusting stuff. If he'd had any more energy, John would've engaged Beckett in an 'I told you so' match, but as it was, he preferred rolling over and dying. Still.

"Oh, God, what is that smell?" blasted McKay, as he entered the infirmary. His eyes quickly locked on to Sheppard's shivering form. "Are you still sick?"

Beckett fixed a dark look on McKay. "Rodney, what could you possibly need now? Did I not send you away only an hour ago?"

"I wanted to see if Sheppard had recovered from you little attempt at being a witch doctor," bitched McKay. "He tried to kill you, Major – shit- Colonel."

"I didna' try to kill him!" retorted Beckett.

Sheppard interrupted both men, by lurching to the side of the bed, and gagging. Beckett hurried back to his side, and rubbed a reassuring hand on the Colonel's back. "Just hang in there, Colonel, it'll pass," he reassured.

"Where's Teyla, this is her fault, too," accused McKay, searching the room with darting eyes, trying to avoid the sick man in the bed. At least until he stopped being sick.

"She went to get some dinner," said Beckett, and at Sheppard's sharp groan, winced. "Sorry," he said.

Sheppard finally rolled on to his back when it had passed. He pointed at Beckett, though the shaking of his finger ruined some of the effect, and ordered, "You, get me something to stop the puking, and you -" he pointed to McKay, "Quit shouting, my head hurts."

"I already gave it to you," said Beckett. He held up the empty syringe. "It should start to work shortly."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes in confusion. God, he must really be out of it. "Doc, just – find an answer to this, please." He was so damn tired, and now sick. He'd thrown up more in the past twenty-four hours than he had his entire adult life. "Preferably something that doesn't end in my throwing up again," he added wistfully.

McKay raised a hand, "Actually, that's why I'm here."

Two pairs of eyes turned to McKay, one red-rimmed and tired, the other worried and slightly annoyed.

"I think I might have an idea," said Rodney, smiling smugly.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, and parisindy, here you go! I'm going to try and get the updates to where we are currently on this fic this morning, and get the newest chapter of our other fic posted before I have to get to work.

rogue, yeppers, Shep is going to owe Teyla an apology, but methinks he might temper it a bit with a 'what were you thinking' over suggesting the tea. The poor guy has been force fed treatments that are worse than the Insomnia (yes, you all are very right, we are cruel evil disturbed whumpers)!

**INSONMIA...part 6**

John wasn't sure if he should be thrilled or terrified, but he was tired enough to ask, "What's the idea?"

Moving cautiously, closer to the bed, Rodney replied, "Massage therapy."

"What?" John and Carson spoke in chorus.

"Did I stutter or something?" Rodney shot back, looking irritated. "No...of course I didn't. But I'll say it slower so you neanderthals can understand me. "Maaaassaaaage theeerapyyyyy."

John closed his eyes and curled up into a fetal position. He felt like shit warmed over then shit on again. Let Carson deal with Rodney. But a hand gripped his shoulder and shook him, so John snapped his eyes open and attempted to glare at Rodney. Apparently it had no effect.

Rodney was still looking smug. "This will work, trust me. I know of what I speak." He squeezed Sheppard's shoulder then seemed to remember that the Colonel was sick and he snatched his hand back, rubbing his palm against his pant leg. "You fall asleep but you can't stay asleep, correct?" he continued.

"Aye, that's the problem," Carson interjected, answering for Sheppard.

"Then we relax him enough, along with one of your sedatives, to keep him asleep. He's really just too wound up to shut down his brain. Happens to me all the time."

John blinked at Rodney and had to ask. "So you use massage therapy? What...you smuggled a masseuse to Atlantis in your back pocket?"

Rodney was looking smug again. "Andrea, she's a botanist, she used to work as a therapeutic masseuse."

"And you know this how?" John prompted.

"She overheard me talking about my back and how I pulled a muscle in it while out on a mission one day and she offered to help." As he spoke, Rodney flushed a pale pink and stared resolutely at his feet. "Anyway...I was going to refuse, of course, but she gave me a demonstration and it was so effective I let her...um...do her thing. My back felt much better."

John snorted as he watched Rodney go from pink to red. "I'll bet, he drawled," then he glanced over at Beckett. "You're not saying anything, Doc. Bad idea?"

Carson shrugged. "Perhaps not. At this point I think we should try pretty much anything. But you do realize you have an appointment with Heightmeyer, Colonel." Carson broke off to glance at his watch. "She's supposed to be here in an hour."

"You know what...I don't feel up to talking to her right now," John countered. "Seriously...I just want someone to shoot me and put me out of my misery."

"Aye...I know." Carson offered a sympathetic smile. "I'll postpone the session until you're feeling better."

Rodney looked impatient. "Good...that's good. So when should I send Andrea in? She's available as needed."

John groaned and closed his eyes again. "I appreciate the thought, Rodney...but I seriously doubt massage therapy will help."

"Genius here," Rodney interjected. "It will help. Trust me. Besides...it can't hurt, right?"

"Rodney might have a point, Colonel," Carson stated. "But first things first. Let's get you feeling better." He reached for Sheppard's wrist to take his vitals. "How's the nausea?"

John considered and was pleased to realize his stomach was actually settling. "It's better," he replied, gratefully.

Carson looked pleased. "Good. Rest a bit then I want you to try eating a bit of toast. We need to get something in your stomach."

"Later, way later," John protested, as did his stomach. The very thought of food made him want to barf again.

"You'll actually feel better with something in your stomach," Carson assured him. "Once you're able to keep something down, I'll see about giving you something else to help you sleep. Meanwhile...we'll pump more fluids into you and that should make you feel better as well."

John hoped Beckett was right. "What about the massage thing?" he asked, and he was surprised at himself for doing so. It wasn't like he really thought it was going to help.

Rodney looked happy though. "Rest like Carson says and when you feel up to it I'll bring Andrea in."

"Let's just hold off on that for the time being," Carson stated.

"I want to try it," John declared, and he almost laughed at the surprised expression on Beckett's face. "Like you said, Doc. It's worth a shot. I'm pretty desperate." John was being completely honest at this point. He wanted to sleep and he would try anything that might help him. Other than Athosian tea.

Carson gave a defeated sigh. "Aye...I suppose it's worth a try. But first things first. You have to get some food in you."

John winced but nodded. "Fine...whatever. Just have a basin handy."

"On that disgusting note, I'm leaving," Rodney interjected, then he turned and headed for the door.

"Thanks!" John called after him. It was nice that Rodney was trying to help.

Rodney waved a hand and kept walking.

John sighed and closed his eyes.

Carson fussed with the blankets. "I'll get that toast," he said, then he was gone.

John didn't move. He just lay there, willing himself to sleep.

oOo

By the next morning John felt better. He was able to keep down toast and normal tea. He felt strong enough to shower and that made him feel even better. Enough so that he asked to be allowed to return to his room. Carson had hemmed and hawed but finally agreed. But only after John promised to keep his appointment with Kate the following night.

John had promised and now he was back in his room. He had just gotten his boots off when a knock sounded on the door. Not all surprisingly, it was Rodney. And he had a pretty blond woman with him. "You must be Andrea," John said to her, offering a weak smile.

"Yes I am," Andrea replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Colonel. Or may I call you John?"

"Uh...sure. John is fine." He smiled then looked at Rodney. "I thought we were going to wait on this?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Why wait? You're tired now, right?"

John couldn't deny that if he tried. Especially when he swayed on his feet and would have fallen had Rodney not caught his arm. "Right...tired." He let himself be pushed down onto his bed.

Andrea knelt beside him, a hand on his knee. "It's all right, John...I'll take good care of you." She then looked at Rodney and waved a hand at him, "you can go now."

"Oh...right." Rodney nodded then headed for the door. "Just you wait, Colonel...in a few minutes you'll be sound asleep."

"Great." John was all for that. He watched Rodney leave then looked at Andrea. She had a slightly feral smile on her lips. "Um...so...what do I do?"

Andrea stood up. "Strip and lay down on your stomach."

John frowned at her. "Strip?"

"It works better if you're naked."

"Oh." John felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead. "Ooookay. Um...how about stripping down to boxers?"

Andrea shrugged. "I suppose that will work, but I'm surprised you're so shy, John. I don't think you have anything to be ashamed about."

John realized she was flirting with him and that he was way too tired to appreciate it. He decided, instead, to trust in Rodney's word. With that in mind he stood up, stripped down to his boxers and stretched out on his stomach, on the bed. A moment later he felt Andrea moving on the bed and then her warm weight settling over his thighs. Then slick hands were gliding over his back and John wondered when she had oiled them, only to decide he didn't care. It felt like heaven. He let his eyes drift shut as Andrea worked her magic. He could feel the tension unknotting from muscles he didn't even know he had. Then, finally, he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

He didn't feel Andrea slipping off his boxer, or feel her nipping kisses across his skin, leaving faint hickeys. But John did dream about his first lover, an older woman, and the great summer he'd spent learning all kinds of fun and sexy things about women. It was a great dream until his girlfriend turned into a red-haired wraith and John relived killing Sumner all over again. Only Sumner turned into Ford and Ford wouldn't die and John couldn't stop him when he killed everyone on Atlantis.

"NO! NO!"

"John!"

He felt hands on his face and a soft voice and his eyes flew open. He had to blink hard to bring Elizabeth's worried face into focus. "What? What time..." John broke off as he tried to remember. "Andrea?" He looked around but the blond was gone.

Elizabeth looked grim. "I sent her away."

"What? Why?" John was more than a little bit confused. He made to sit up, the sheet sliding down his torso, only to realize something. He was naked under the blankets. "What the hell?" John gripped them and brought them up to his chin, fighting a flush as he realized Elizabeth was sitting on his bed with him naked. Maybe he was still dreaming.

"Long story short, I came to check on you and I found Andrea naked and...well...you get the picture." Elizabeth looked a bit uncomfortable, but her expression was calm enough.

John groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "My life sucks. Seriously sucks. How long did I sleep?" As pissed off as he was, pissed off and embarrassed, he figured maybe there was a saving grace to what had happened.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Just over an hour."

"Sonofabitch!" John's voice echoed through the room and he winced. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I know you're running on empty right now." Elizabeth reached out as if to pat his arm but dropped her hand and rose from the bed. "I'm going to send Carson in to see you. I think he intends to try sedating you again, and in the morning you're set to talk with Kate."

John knew she was telling him he had no choice and he was worn out enough to accept it "Fine...whatever."

Elizabeth nodded and took her leave.

The moment she was gone, John got up and got dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt. He had just settled back in bed with War and Peace when a knock sounded. "Come on in, Doc!" John called out. He watched Beckett enter, move to his side, then stare at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Carson was obviously lying. "So...we know massage therapy doesn't work."

"Weir told you what happened?" If he hadn't been so tired, John was pretty sure he would have blushed.

Carson nodded. "She did. Now...I have another sedative that's very strong. It might make you sick, so I'm leaving it up to you to decide if you want it or not."

John didn't hesitate, he just held out his arm. "Go for it."

"I'll hook up an IV. It works better as a drip." That said, Carson went to work unpacking his medical bag.

"God I hope this works," John whispered, as he closed his eyes. If it didn't he was pretty sure he would go insane.

**THE END of part 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_"You should've killed me when you had the chance, Sir," drawled the warped psuedo-Ford._

_"Don't," pleaded Sheppard, his voice cracking. The nine mil had the young man dead pegged center in the chest. "I'll shoot."_

_Ford's mouth curled in a gesture that was two-thirds sneer, and one-third regret. "If that were true, I would've already been dead."_

_Sheppard's trigger finger tightened convulsively, and he shouted –_

"No!" He bolted upwards in bed, his right hand pulling the trigger that wasn't there, even while his mind screamed against the action.

"Easy, Colonel," whispered a groggy voice from a chair that always sat at the other end of his room, except it wasn't at the other end of his room anymore. It was now pulled up alongside him.

Sheppard became aware of a couple of things simultaneously. One, the sedative must not have worked. He could see the IV line running into the top of his hand, and feel the slight sting from his sudden movement. And two, he wasn't alone. Beckett was closing a book, and trying to shake off the effects of drowsing.

"You're still here?" mumbled Sheppard, surprised.

Beckett set the novel on Sheppard's nightstand, and after rubbing sleepy hands down his pants, stood up to check the line, making sure John hadn't pulled it out of the vein. The doctor must have dozed while reading –

"I couldn't just up and leave you knocked to the nethers, now could I?"

Sheppard relaxed his body, and slumped against the pillows. "Suppose not," he agreed. "How long?"

Carson looked regretfully at the clock. "About an hour and a half this time, maybe two hours, at the most." He was standing over Sheppard, hands tucked into his white lab coat. "Not enough."

"You're telling me," joked Sheppard, not realizing until he caught the slightly stricken response on Carson's face, that he'd spoken out loud. "It's not your fault, Doc, you're doing everything you can." Last thing Sheppard wanted was to be a source of guilt and stress for anyone.

"I need to do more." Beckett voiced his frustration.

Sheppard didn't know what to say. Beckett was the doctor, and because of that, he'd blame himself regardless of what John said.

A knock at the door gave Sheppard the proverbial 'saved by the bell' excuse. "Come in,"

Kate walked in, holding her hands clasped loosely in front of her. "Colonel," she greeted warmly. "I was told we needed to have a talk."

Sheppard knew his mouth twisted in distaste. This wasn't the avenue he wanted to go down. "I guess so," he said reluctantly.

Carson was standing awkwardly, not knowing whether he should stay or go. He did need to keep an eye on the colonel's health, and his reactions to sedatives had been problematic. "Ah, Colonel, how do you feel?"

Sheppard wanted to say he felt awful. He'd even go for throwing up about now, and he could've sworn just a little while ago that he never wanted to do that particular bodily function again, but the alternative was having his thoughts poked and prodded by Heightmeyer. He sort of rolled his eyes half-way to Beckett's face, and then Kate, and had the grace to change the lie before it had left his tongue. "Not going to buy it, are you?" he said instead.

"No," commiserated Beckett. "But if you want, we can try again?"

John shook his head, smiling slightly. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Am I that unwelcome," teased Heightmeyer. "That you'd rather be sick to your stomach?"

So, she'd heard of his adventures in detail? "Look, Doctor Heightmeyer, it's nothing personal -"

She stopped him from going further. "I know, Colonel. It isn't something I haven't heard before, by a hundred different people. Nobody wants to see a psychologist – well, some do, but those are the ones that often times need us the least."

Sheppard's interest was piqued. "How so? You'd think that the uh – mentally ill – uh, would need you," he gestured towards Kate, with the distinct feeling that he was making a royal mess of things, "well, you know, more than say – someone like me."

She unclasped her hands, and found a position against the wall, folding her arms in a more comfortable position. The easy smile came again. "You'd think so," she said. "However, they are the ones ready to admit they need help. Someone like you, on the other hand -"

"Isn't," he supplied succinctly.

"Exactly."

Carson cleared his throat with exaggerated care. "I'll just," he thumbed at the door, "be going now. When you're done, let me know."

Sheppard waved blithely at Beckett, who lost some of his uncomfortableness with the rightness of Sheppard's little move, and smirked, before walking out the door.

"Have a seat," offered Sheppard, gesturing at the chair.

She nodded, and sat. And waited.

The silence stretched out between them, pulling at Sheppard's nerves. "So, you're here to tell me that I'm losing it, and, let me guess, I'm actually causing the insomnia as a way to – hmmm, to stop the world, or at least my role in it, right?"

"Do you believe that is the cause?"

"No, no, no – you're not pulling that one on me, Doc," said Sheppard, pointing his finger at her before pulling his hand back to his bed. "You're the doc, Doc – you tell me."

She debated him for a few minutes, before acquiescing. "Okay, then, I think," she proceeded carefully, "that you feel responsible, intensely more so than you should, for the loss of life that has occurred since we arrived last year."

His snort caused her to pause. He smirked, but waved for her to continue.

"As I was saying, you feel more than humanly possible, that you could have prevented these deaths -"

"I know I couldn't have prevented all of them," he started to say before stopping. He frowned, and seemed to think to himself for a few moments. When he looked back to her, his eyes were bleak. "Actually, that isn't true. I could've prevented it. All of it."

Kate's face grew grim. "The locket."

John confirmed, his voice flat, "The locket."

"And you have the gift of foresight?" she asked sharply.

"Of course not," he rejoined, just as sharply. "But the fact remains, it was my touch that activated the signal that called the wraith to Athos that night."

"And set off a chain of events that you can trace all deaths back to you," she concluded. "The grim reaper meets Kevin Bacon game."

He laughed mirthlessly.

"But it's not so funny, is it?"

He sobered. "No, it's not."

She leaned in towards him, and Sheppard felt the air move, and settle, catching a scent of her perfume. He closed his eyes against the emotions welling up within him. It wasn't funny. He was Midas, and everything he touched died, but instead of turning to Gold, they withered and turned to dust.

She didn't talk, but allowed him to remove himself into his thoughts. He walked through the memories. Of meeting Teyla, and hiking to the cave, and that damn chance of fate that caused him to notice the light reflecting off the surface of an innocent looking necklace. A Trojan Horse that tricked them all.

Sumner locking eyes, and pleading with him to end it. Abrams body, aged beyond life, and Gall, barely holding on – but he didn't. He'd shot himself to save them, because the wraith had a streak of cruelty, and left him with just enough life to make his passing a painful experience for not only Gall, but for Sheppard and McKay. Rodney hadn't talked about it for weeks.

The soldiers gunned down by the Genii, potential allies turned foe, again, a threat he'd brought down on the expedition. Everett, Grodin, many nameless soldiers that had fallen in the Siege of Atlantis – and Ford. Fucking Ford. His kid, his teammate, his responsibility, and nothing he could do would change what happened. He knew, in his gut, that Ford would never be the same. There was no magic cure for what had happened, and Beckett had been grasping at straws when he said he might be able to wean Ford.

He found as his thoughts drifted, his mind shifted, and REM sleep overcame his already fatigued body.

_"He tried to kill me!" shouted McKay. "You have to kill him."_

"_No," protested Sheppard. "We can catch him, bring him back -"_

_McKay thrust the gun into Sheppard's fingers. "You have to kill him, before he kills everyone else."_

"I won't kill him!" shouted Sheppard, furious. The sudden echoes caused Sheppard to open his eyes. His gaze swept the room, and locked on to Beckett's. "Kate?"

Carson shook his head briefly. "Gone. You fell asleep, and she figured you needed it more than your session, now I'm not so sure she made the right call." Beckett was being blunt.

John was falling down a long hill, and gaining speed. He was starting to drop in and out, only remaining asleep until the dreams grew bad enough to jolt him awake. Which was all the time. "Doc," started Sheppard, "I don't know how long -" his voice cracked. He couldn't say it. Couldn't say 'how long I can hold on' because he could feel the thin veneer of control starting to break, shatter, fall into non-existence.

"I know," said Beckett.

The sharp crack of Sheppard's non-humorous laugh brought him up short. "How can you? I'm starting to lose track of when I'm awake, and when I'm asleep. It's all starting to blur. Right now, what if this isn't real? What if I look away, and Ford shows up, splattering your brains against the wall – oh wait, he wouldn't do that – he'd suck you into your hundreds first."

Beckett stooped low, sitting on the end of Sheppard's bed. "Son, we'll solve this thing, I promise."

John could only close his eyes. He never saw Beckett reaching over for the IV line, and injected another sedative. Didn't hear the doctor's explanation that another hour of sleep might not be enough, but his body needed it anyway. He was already falling into another round of REM, and nightmares.


	8. Chapter 8

**INSOMNIA...part 8**

_"Everyone dies because of you, Sheppard."_

_He shook his head. "No, Sir. That's not true!"___

_Sumner laughed, a harsh sound rattling out from the thin, deflated, chest of an old man. "Sure it is. You started long before coming to Atlantis too. Dax and Mitch and countless others. I feel almost honored to have been your first in the Pegasus galaxy. But you rack 'em up fast, Sheppard. All those Genii...pop, pop, pop. Gone. Gall and Abrams? All yours. Now Ford."_

_"NO!" John was shouting now, shouting out a lie and they both knew it. He raised his hand, his berretta tight in his grasp and pointed it at Sumner. But only for a moment. Arm trembling, John lifted it to press against his own temple and pulled the trigger..._

"SHIT SHIT SONOFABITCH!" He came out of sleep, jerking upright, feeling the IV needle rip out of his skin, heart thudding hard against his ribs, pulse racing, skin slicked in a cold sweat and bile rose in his throat. He tried to fumble out of bed when suddenly a bed pan was in front of him and a solid hand curled around the back of his neck, offering support as he vomited until it felt as if his stomach had turned inside out.

By the time John stopped puking, he was shaking so hard and felt so weak that he was pretty sure he zoned out for a few minutes, because the next thing he knew a cool cloth was on his forehead and someone was taking his pulse. John peeled his eyes open, blinked hard, and recognized Doctor Bailey. She was in her fifties with gray hair, dark eyes and a soft smile. Before he could open his mouth she was holding out a glass.

"Mix of water and mouthwash," Doctor Bailey informed him. "Rinse your mouth and you'll feel better."

John did as she suggested and getting the sour taste out of his mouth did help. He handed the glass back, noting that his hand was still shaking, then glanced at his other hand and saw that his IV was back in. God he hated those things. "Sorry about this," John said softly, and his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

She shrugged. "Not your fault. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." John was too worn out to even consider lying about it. "Where's Beckett?"

"I sent him to bed about half an hour ago. He's dead on his feet." As she spoke, Bailey fussed with the blankets.

John felt a twinge of guilt. It was his fault that Beckett was exhausted. "Maybe he'll get in a few z's for me," he joked. Or tried to joke. By the look on Doctor Bailey's face, his attempt fell short.

She eyed him with concern. "Feeling up to trying a bit of toast? You need to get something in your stomach, Colonel."

"Maybe later." John felt nauseous just thinking about food.

"Try a bit of juice then," the doctor countered, holding out a mug.

Before John could accept it, not that he intended to actually drink it, a knock sounded at the door. He watched her cross the room to open it, taking the mug with her. A moment later, Zelenka entered and moved to his bed side. "Is something wrong?" John asked, trying to read the other man's expression.

Zelenka shook his head. "Nothing is wrong, I wish to visit you." He turned to look at Doctor Bailey. "Is that allowed?"

"If Colonel Sheppard feels up to it," Bailey conceded, but she looked doubtful.

"Sure...I'm good," John replied, and he didn't even wince at the lie. He was rather glad Zelenka had shown up. He needed to be distracted.

The doctor looked like she might argue with him, but instead she nodded. "All right then. Chat for a few minutes while I head to the messhall for some toast." She shook a finger at Zelenka. "But only for a few minutes."

John made a face "What difference does it make?" he countered. "It's not like he's interrupting my sleep!" John knew he sounded a bit peevish but he was past the point of caring. He would play nice later.

"A few minutes," Doctor Bailey reiterated, before stalking out the door.

"How are you really, Colonel?" Zelenka asked, the moment the door slid shut again.

John sighed then shrugged. "Not so good," he allowed.

Zelenka nodded. "Rodney has told me," he confessed. "I have brought you something." He dug in one pocket then pulled out his hand and opened his fingers. Lying in his palm was a small, red, pill.

"What is that?" John queried, his curiosity piqued.

"You would call it a downer," Zelenka replied, without hesitation. "Is very potent."

John could feel his eyebrows arching into his hairline. "Where did you get it?" Suspicion colored his tone. Not that he was going to yell at Zelenka or anything, but the Czech was pretty damn crafty when he wanted to be.

Zelenka grinned, his eyes twinkling, before shaking his head. "That you do not need to know. Do you wish to take it? Is your choice."

"Is it safe?" That wasn't exactly what John had intended to say. He figured he was stupid to even consider it, yet he was also desperate.

"Is safe," Zelenka stated, looking a bit offended. "I would not offer if it wasn't."

John knew that. "Sorry. I'm not thinking all that clearly right now." He watched Zelenka relaxed and knew that he was forgiven. "Hand it over." John held out his own hand and watched Zelenka drop the pill into it. He glanced over to his nightstand and snagged the glass of water that was sitting there. A moment later he tossed back the pill with a few sips of water, letting Zelenka put the glass back. John leaned his head back into the pillows, closed his eyes and asked. "How long?"

A moment of silence then Zelenka said, "Should be immediate."

"Okay." John waited for lethargy to wash over him but, instead, he felt a kind of buzzing. Then a tingling sensation and suddenly he felt wide awake. Pumped up awake. "Uh oh," he whispered.

"Uh oh?" Zelenka echoed.

John opened his eyes and blinked at him. "I don't' feel sleepy," he explained. "I feel...buzzed."

Zelenka looked stricken. "Oh no!"

"Don't say that," John requested. Something bad always happened when someone said that. And this time he knew whatever it was, it was going to happen to him.

"Kavanagh is a dead man!" Zelenka snarled, and as he spoke he pulled at his hair, making it stand up on end.

John chuckled as he stared at him. "You've got that Albert Einstein vibe going on," he teased.

Zelenka wasn't paying attention to him. He was muttering to himself in Czech before heading for the door.

"Later!" John called after him, then he found himself tugging out the IV and rising to his feet. He felt a bit loopy but much more focused than he had in days. He didn't know how long this feeling was going to last, so he was going to take advantage of it while he could. First up was a shower. John felt clammy and sticky and he was tired of lounging around in bed. So he jumped in the shower, dressed in his uniform, minus the jacket and his gun, then he made his way to Elizabeth's office.

She was more than a little surprised to see him up and about. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" She asked.

John shrugged. "Probably and I'm sure I'll be back there pretty soon, but I feel pretty good for the moment."

"Doctor Weir!" It was Beckett and he looked ragged and was panting and when he caught sight of Sheppard he looked stunned. "Bloody hell, Colonel!" he snarled.

"Chill out," John told him. "I'm okay. For the moment." A very short moment, because even as he spoke the room tilted a bit and John found himself being manhandled into a nearby chair. He blinked Beckett's worried face into focus and felt fingers circle his wrist. "I'm...I'm good," John whispered.

Beckett huffed a sigh. "No...you're not. I just got done talking to Zelenka. What the hell possessed you to take the damn pill, Colonel? At the very least you should have checked with me first and I would have told you not to do it!"

John winced as Beckett's voice rose in volume. "Sorry...sorry." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Look...it seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean...Zelenka said it was safe and I trust him."

"Back up!" Elizabeth interjected. "What am I missing? What pill and what does Zelenka have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," John replied, not wanting Zelenka to get in trouble. But he could tell that Elizabeth didn't believe him.

Carson glared at Sheppard then turned to Elizabeth. "Long story short, Zelenka gave Sheppard what he thought was a downer. Which might have helped him sleep or it might not. I'm inclined to believe _not_. But that's neither here nor there given that the pill was actually and upper. A very potent upper."

Elizabeth looked like someone had slapped her. She turned to look at Sheppard, eyes narrowed and gaze intense. "So you're high at the moment?"

"Guess so." John wasn't feeling particularly buzzed, just pleasantly awake. It was a relief in so many ways and he wanted it to last forever.

"He's going to crash, badly," Carson stated, ruining the moment.

Elizabeth winced. "How will it affect him health wise?"

John stood up and stated loudly, "Hey! I'm still here you know. Stop talking around me!" That said he pushed past both of them and stalked out of the room, ignoring Elizabeth's order to get his ass back in there. Instead John stepped into the nearest transporter. He didn't have a particular destination in mind, he just didn't want to waste a single minute of feeling almost normal again.

oOo

He ended up at the gym. Ronon was there and John didn't stop to think. He just invited him to spar, using sticks. He was glad when Ronon accepted the offer and a moment later they were in combat.

John's body had never felt so fluid, so in synch. Ronon had the greater strength, but he had less agility and speed overall which John used to his advantage. And the best part of all was that he could be as aggressive as he wanted. So John let it all out, his sticks clashing against Ronon's as they circled the room.

But all good things had to come to an end and John felt a wave of vertigo that sent him stumbling to his knees. He vaguely heard Ronon calling his name as white dots danced before his eyes, then they blazed into blinding light that faded to black. 

John didn't feel Ronon catch him, lift him into his arms, and run with him as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

**THE END...of part 8**


	9. Chapter 9

**Insomnia part nine**

"Carson, I need my second in command. I need John on his feet."

Sheppard heard the words, and knew the voice. Elizabeth. She was nearby, and apparently talking to Beckett about him. Fanfuckingtastic. Last thing he remembered, he'd been getting hot and sweaty with Ronon, and not that kind of hot and sweaty, thank you so much, and then things went wonky and bam, infirmary time again, Colonel 'screwed' Sheppard. They ought to just give him a permanent bed at the rate he was going.

"Elizabeth, we're doing all we can, but you know as well as I, the root of the trouble isn't medical. You can suture a wound shut but if you don't cure the infection within, you can no' heal the body."

Beckett's voice was tired. It was always tired lately. Sheppard didn't like the thought that he was continuing to add to the doc's condition.

John figured he really should let them know he was awake. He'd actually slept some, but a product of a crash from a drug he shouldn't have taken, and he felt about as bad as one would expect. Maybe it would be enough to get him through another day – or two.

He heard soft sounds of movement, and knew that they were moving towards him.

"I don't like this, Carson. John's always been strong, and to see him like this -" her voice broke and she didn't finish.

Sheppard felt a flash of guilt at not letting them know he was awake. Elizabeth sounded strained, and he chalked up another reason to hate what was happening. He _was_ strong, he wanted to shout, but he didn't want to let them know he was listening.

"He's still strong, Lass. He's been through a lot. He'll get through this."

Good man, Carson Beckett, thought John wearily.

He didn't feel good, and listening to them discuss his depressing situation wasn't helping. Sheppard felt as if the sleep hadn't made a dent in his sleep deficit, and his touchy stomach was feeling tetchy.

A soft hand fell on his arm, and he knew it was Elizabeth. She softly moved her hand up and down, not much, but enough to soothe his mind. It was calming, and he sunk lower towards sleep again, just wanting to escape his situation, even if it would be temporary.

oOo

_I'm sorry, Sir. It wasn't supposed to end this way._

Ford was watching Sheppard sadly, but then his face warped, and changed, hair growing white and rapidly lengthening. He was Ford-Wraith, and the sadness evolved into a cruel smile.

_Everyone must die, now, Sir. You should've killed me when you had the chance. Too bad your earlier compunction to do what was necessary wasn't around when you needed it most. Your bad decision will haunt you forever –_

_No!_

"No!" John shouted.

He bolted upright, felt the tug of the IV line, felt the hand soothing his arm fall to the side in surprise. His heart was pounding, and he felt cold and clammy, and sick.

"John?"

Sheppard was staring forward, willing himself to remember that it was just another dream. Ford was still human, and he was still out there. It didn't have to end that way. He'd make sure it wouldn't.

He turned his head and saw Elizabeth sitting uneasily in a chair.

"I'm fine." He answered automatically.

Emotions transformed her face. A tight-lipped cringe, and a small shake of her head before she answered honestly, "No, you're not."

No, John wasn't, and events had spiraled so out of his control he didn't even attempt to deny it.

"Water?" he asked hoarsely.

She moved to get the pitcher, and poured a cup, before handing it to him. She didn't speak, but watched as Sheppard drank the entire glass and handed the cup back.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said warmly. "John, we need to talk."

"I'll get through this," John replied, knowing where this was headed. "I'm not crazy, Elizabeth. It's just a temporary bump in the road."

"No one is saying you're crazy. But, I do think you are being unrealistic at this point. Kate said she wants to see you again."

Sheppard watched as her arms folded, and she stared at him in that determined way that let him know this was not going to be easily avoided. She didn't back down. Most of the time, it was a trait he admired in her, right now, not so much. He wasn't up for the fight, and she knew it.

"It didn't do much last time," he offered instead of a refusal.

"One time won't. This isn't a problem where you can be handed a pill and say 'call me in the morning'."

The irony of her words wasn't lost on either one, and she flushed. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I'm not saying -"

"I think you've said enough," interrupted John coldly.

"John, I -"

"If you don't mind," he said, pointedly tugging the blanket up a little and settling in to the pillow purposefully, "I think I'll try to get a little more rest, seeing how that's the reason I'm here, after all."

Elizabeth looked like she wanted to say more, but she nodded abruptly, and stepped away, leaving Sheppard to stew over their conversation.

oOo

And stew John did. The infirmary was empty after Elizabeth left, a fact he was grateful for, but it left far too much silence in her wake. Nothing but Ford's imaginary apology echoing in his mind.

He'd told Beckett earlier he didn't know how long he could keep going, and lying here now, he felt the weight of the truth more than any other time in his life. He was beginning to doubt anyone would be able to help him. Could you die from lack of sleep? Do you become insane? Reduced to a gibbering mass of flesh because your mind can't fasten on reality any longer?

His mind was at war. Part of him insisted this was minor, that he'd overcome it just like everything else in his life, but the other half was panicking, and trying to escape like the little boy who never could be fast enough, or smart enough, for his dad.

The longer he lay there, his mind turning over every thought possible, the more anxious and restless he felt. He couldn't sleep, and what's worse, he couldn't bear to keep still any longer. He just had to get away, run somewhere and maybe find some peace. In the end, that's what he needed. Peace. Quiet the demons, Ronon had said, and that was a perfect description.

Making up his mind, John yanked the IV line out, and slid out of the bed. He left the infirmary, now saying thanks for the lack of personnel, probably at an afternoon briefing – shift change. They usually left someone around, and whoever it was, they were sure to get an earful from Beckett when he found out they'd left him unsupervised. That wasn't his problem, and for once, he didn't feel any guilt at all.

He sought the one place he hadn't tried yet. The one place that he'd gone to when it'd all started. The balcony overlooking the ocean. Granted, it wasn't the main balcony, where everyone could have access. He'd found a small isolated one, off the southern pier, and it was higher than the rest, and you could see forever. If you looked out, you'd never know you weren't doing anything other than bobbing in the middle of the wide ocean, and at night, you could lose yourself in the twinkling lights.

Sheppard had to move through the halls with stealth in mind. The area wasn't overly remote, just tucked away really neatly. The halls had been pretty empty, again, it was shift change, and most personnel were getting briefed by the outgoing shift. Worked for his benefit. He was just dodging through the doors that led into the room that accessed his balcony when he thought he saw someone coming down the hall towards him. He jumped just that little bit faster, and flattened himself against the wall, breathing hard as the door slid shut.

He waited and hoped that the person hadn't seen him, or didn't think anything of seeing Colonel Sheppard, decked out in infirmary scrubs and nothing else, and would continue on their merry way.

He counted to ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty and when he reached sixty John relaxed his tense muscles. He turned away from the door and headed to the balcony, breathing deeply in as the glass doorway opened to admit the salty air.

This is what he was talking about. Not pills, not shrinks, just a slice of mother nature and time to himself, without anyone waiting or watching, or wanting to cure him with some other cockamie treatment.

He walked over to the rail and dropped down to the ground, sliding his legs through the slats, and letting his head rest against the metal supports.

It was quiet out here. The only sound was the ocean water slapping playfully against the city down below, and sea birds squawking at one another. What he wouldn't give for life to be this simple. No worries, no decisions that cost lives every time you blinked, no regrets –

"I thought I'd find you here."

Sheppard didn't move. He'd found a measure of comfort against the rails, and the tiredness sat on him like a weighted vest.

"I wanted some time alone, to think. Clear my head."

Elizabeth moved beside him, and knelt down. She looked at his face, searching for answers to the questions she had. Maybe she found them, or maybe not, but she turned her eyes to the water as well.

"When I was a little girl, my Grandma used to take me to the beach. It was my favorite thing to do." She started talking. "I remember one summer I'd been playing with some crabs off the pier. They scared me, but at the same time, I was fascinated. The little pincers, and the hard bodies. They kept scurrying around under the water, oblivious to everything else around them."

"Elizabeth, I don't want to hear about crabs."

She smiled a little, and continued. "Funny thing was, a group of people came over and started setting up nets to catch the crabs. I asked Grandma what they were doing, and she told me they were catching them to eat. I tried to talk the people out of it, but one of the older men sat me down and said, 'Young lady, there are ways of life that just are. We eat the crabs, and the crabs eat the other little things in the water. There's always going to be something bigger out to eat you.'"

Sheppard would've rolled his eyes, except he was steadfastly refusing to look her way. "This is so cliché it could've came out of Mother Goose. Let me guess, you got him to give the crabs a last minute stay?" Sarcasm was practically dripping in the air.

Elizabeth watched the water, a bemused grin on her face, one that John didn't see. Nope. Because he wasn't looking at her. Not at all.

"Not really. I told him that it was the bigger people's responsibility to look out for the littler ones, and he shoved the crabs in the bucket, and gathered the others, and left. I don't think he liked me much."

"And the moral of the story is?"

Now the grin vanished like quicksilver on a rainy day. She faced him, still kneeling, and the reluctance she felt was vibrating in the air. "John, I'm the bigger person here."

The impact knocked his sails flat. She was going to look out for him, even if he didn't agree it was the right thing to do. She was taking the decisions out of his hands. His mouth went dry, and he tried to find a level of calmness somewhere, but it wasn't cooperating.

"Spell it out, Elizabeth," he responded with a growl, now fully looking at her, and his eyes were spitting chips of anger. "Don't pussyfoot around with stories of old men, and crabs and other crap to make you feel better."

"You're falling apart, John," she said softly. "I'm handing you over into Carson's custody. He'll be the primary caregiver, but you'll also be under Kate's care. If you're going to get better, you've got to accept this is a deeper problem then you are admitting."

The anger Sheppard had tried to control came erupting out. "You can't do that!" He pushed back from the rail, and got to his feet, glaring daggers. "So I'm having a hard time sleeping, it's not like I've had much time to try to figure it out on my own. I asked for help, Elizabeth, and look where it got me. Everyone shoving their own treatments down my throat, and all of them have made me sick, unconscious, or a combination of both, hell, one of them almost got me raped!" he thundered.

Elizabeth cringed, but didn't back down. She never backed down.

"I can, and I have."

John stared her down, time ticking away, and he knew his entire body radiated the anger he felt, but she never flinched and she didn't offer him an out.

"Son of a bitch," he swore, turning back towards the ocean, knowing he was cornered. "I don't want this on my record," he finally said, his voice strained and washed out. He wasn't going to beg. He never begged.

She took it as an olive branch, or at least a temporary truce, and he could tell she relaxed.

"It won't."

He believed her. God knows, she'd never lied before, but this was scary. His life was being handed over to others, and he wasn't going to have much say, and all he could think about was getting away before Beckett got him in his clutches again. And to think, this had all started out as a voluntary move on his part.

He'd been through the wringer, and even if his mind hadn't been breaking down, and it was, he could feel that, his body definitely was. He could feel that, also. It didn't matter that his weakened state was partially their fault. The sedatives that made him sick, the Athosian tea that made him more than a little sick. All those shots to keep him from throwing up, and the IV's trying to keep him hydrated because of all the throwing up.

But the dreams – the nightmares, and the guilt. It was eating him alive. Demons, Ronon had said. He had to quiet the demons, and he knew that sitting out here on this balcony wasn't going to be enough. Knew it as sure as he knew the sun would rise in the morning – with him awake to see it. Ronon.

The Satedan had been through a lot, seen enough to have quite a few of his own demons. He'd known what was wrong with Sheppard even before John had begun to accept it. Maybe he could help, maybe if he gave one more person a shot, he could avoid being locked up in the infirmary under medical care that might only make him worse.

Hearing sounds behind him, he turned, and felt his stomach fall. A pair of burly orderlies were standing at the door, waiting. He twisted back to Elizabeth and gave her a wry look. "Didn't think I'd go willingly?"

She returned his smile. "Let's just say you have a habit of doing what you want, regardless of what I say."

Sheppard sighed, and squared his shoulders, before heading towards the men. "Hi fellas, appreciate the escort. You know how dangerous these halls can be. Murders and muggings, and you just never know."

He walked out the door and towards the hall, and never looked back.

The End…of part nine 


	10. Chapter 10

**INSOMNIA...part 10**

John hated this. Hated being watched. Sure Beckett had set him up in a private room. A small, suite-like, room that John had never seen before. Beckett told him he thought it was for the best. That way they could better control his visitors. But John knew what he really met. They could better control him. Only one doorway to freedom and John knew there would be a guard posted there. On the other hand, he did appreciate the fact that Beckett was giving him privacy for his breakdown, and the fact that he was being allowed to wear his own sweats. Might as well be comfortable while he fell apart.

After another exam, John found himself hooked up to an IV, then a tray was brought and he was ordered to eat. He stared at the food. Toast and some kind of soup, the smell of which made his stomach clench and nausea roil through him. But John took a small bite of toast and forced it down.

"I know you're not happy about this, Colonel," Carson said, as he fiddled with the IV line. "I wish it could be different but..."

"I know." John winced at the sharpness in his tone. He didn't blame Beckett for this. The man looked as exhausted as John felt and he knew he was to blame for it. "Look...Doc...I'm sorry. I know I'm a lousy patient. I'm just...I'm not good at this. Ya know?"

Carson patted his shoulder. "Aye...I know." He offered a smile then drew John's attention to his IV. There were two bags on the pole. One was small and pale blue. "This is something that...I hope...will help you to sleep. It's strong and...I'll be honest with you here...it's used more for psychiatric treatments -"

"So now you think I'm crazy?" John exploded, shoving the tray table away from him and glaring at Beckett.

"No...I don't." Carson kept his voice soft and calm. "I think we need to try other things, Colonel. Because if you don't get some sleep soon...you truly are going to break down and Atlantis needs you. We all do."

John felt shame wash over him. He knew he was overreacting. He knew part of that was the fact he was so damn exhausted. "Sorry," he mumbled, shifting under the covers. He cleared his throat then asked. "So...what will this do to me? I mean...how will it make me feel?"

Carson sighed. "Good question. To be honest, I don't know for certain. It's different for everyone. You might feel a bit high. You might simply feel groggy. I'm hoping it will relax you enough to help you sleep."

"I see." John could tell Beckett was hedging on the truth. "How soon before I feel something?" he asked.

"Should be fairly soon," Carson allowed. "Rest and a bit later Kate will be in to talk to you."

John nodded and turned on his side, facing towards his IV. "Night, doc," he whispered, closing his eyes. He heard Beckett walk away and John prayed for sleep to claim him.

oOo

He did sleep. But it was filled with dark and twisted images. His dreams and memories and new and old demons colliding into a kaleidoscope of colors that bled away to black and white. John came awake with a start, sheets and blankets twisted around him, body trembling, his skin sheened in a cold sweat and he felt sick to his stomach.

A nurse had been sitting in a corner chair and she jumped up with a basin, getting it under him just in time.

"Water..." John croaked, when he was done puking up his insides. He let her hold the glass since he was shaking too much to hold it himself, then he laid back against the pillows, trying to straighten the blankets. He was damp and cold.

"I'll get Doctor Beckett," said the nurse.

John didn't reply. He simply closed his eyes and curled up into a ball of misery.

oOo

Beckett stopped the treatment after two days. John did a lot of sleeping but it was restless and filled with nightmare images. Kate tried talking to him and John made the effort, only he didn't remember what he said to her. Beckett told him it was the drugs that made him forget. So John spent a transition day puking and shivering and not sleeping, then he felt clear-headed enough to accept a visitor. He saw Beckett's surprise when he asked for Ronon.

John realized he must have actually dozed off. He came awake with a start when a strange scent filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see a candle burning on the table next to his bed. John crinkled his nose. "What is that?"

"Kith," Ronon said, pushing away from the wall to stand beside John's bed. "My people have always used it."

"It stinks." John was too far gone to be anything but honest right now. Besides which, he knew Ronon was all about honesty.

Ronon shrugged. "You get used to it."

John sighed. "Why are you burning it?"

"Why did you want to see me?" Ronon countered.

"Straight to the point, that's what I like about you," John said, deflecting the question. He pushed up against the pillows and rubbed his eyes. He felt like there was sand beneath his eyelids. Then he heaved a sigh, looked at Ronon and said, "How do you fight your demons?"

Ronon just looked at him for a long time before he said, "I accept them."

John grimaced. He was wondering if this was a mistake. Maybe Ronon didn't understand. "It's not that easy," he muttered.

"It's as easy as you want it to be." The scrape of a chair then Ronon was turning it so he could straddle the seat and rest his forearms on the back. "I've killed people, many people. Sometimes they weren't the enemy I believed them to be."

"Yeah...tell me about it," John interjected. Sumner hadn't been the enemy.

Ronon scratched his chin through his beard then said, "You can't save everyone. Some people don't want to be saved."

John knew who he was talking about. "Ford isn't there yet!" he snapped.

"You're afraid to accept the truth," Ronon countered, his tone sharp and blunt. "You don't accept the truth, you won't get past this."

"It's my job to save people!" John snapped.

Ronon shrugged. "You're a soldier. It's your job to kill. You do that to protect the people you're supposed to save. Sometimes you kill simply because you have too. Sometimes you kill because you want too. Sometimes you don't have a choice and sometimes...maybe...you even like it. Maybe it's no longer what you do but who you are."

John froze at that, at the truth he realized he was hiding from. That was his biggest fear. That he no longer killed to save people but that he killed because he didn't know anything else. A part of his mind argued against that being the truth. John knew he wasn't a cold-blooded killer, but sometimes he killed too easily and that scared the shit out of him. But that wasn't his only fear. "I've made a lot of mistakes...stupid mistakes," John whispered.

"Accept what you can't change." Ronon's tone was soft but the words echoed in the room.

"It's not that easy," John argued. God knew he wished it were.

Ronon stood up, putting the chair back in the corner. "Make it easy. No one can do that for you, Sheppard." That said, Ronon strode out of the room.

John wanted to call after him, to make him stay. There was something about Ronon's presence that was comforting and John couldn't figure out why. A part of him didn't care why, he just didn't want to be alone anymore and that was the clue, he suddenly realized. No one understood his demons other than Ronon. No one else could. Sure there were other soldiers on Atlantis. A whole platoon of Marines to protect the city and it's inhabitants. But even they wouldn't understand John's fears. Hell, he didn't really understand them, not the way Ronon -obviously - did.

It was tempting to climb out of bed and go after Ronon, but John knew he wouldn't get one foot out the door before his guard would call Beckett and Weir. So John stayed put, curling up again and closing his eyes. He let the darkness swirl over him, let the shadows dance in his head. He didn't even realize when he drifted into slumber. Didn't know that, for once, the demons slept with him.

**THE END...of part 10**


	11. Chapter 11

**Insomnia…part 11**

When Sheppard woke, he felt hung over, with gritty eyes and a head full of cotton wadding. But he'd slept, and not been tormented by dreams for the first time in so long he'd lost count. He was face down, and realized at some point someone had drew the blanket over him, and on his own he'd twisted and pushed his head till it was eventually under the pillow.

At a noise to his left, he yanked his head out from under the pillow, and stared blearily at Rodney. He was sitting, typing on his computer and taking a bite of a Danish. When he saw John looking at him, he raised the Danish in the air and said, "Hope you don't mind. I got hungry waiting for you to wake up."

"What are you doing here?"

McKay smiled smugly. "I'm the ghost of Sheppard's past."

Granted, Sheppard had just woken up, but huh? "Rodney, I was sleeping. Finally. You woke me up." He ignored the ghost comment – for now.

"I didn't," he insisted, and then pointed the Danish at his head, "at last, the secret of Sheppard's hair is revealed. You know, there's a betting pool on how you manage the 'ruffled but sexy' look."

John looked at him like Rodney was the one that had gone off his rocker, causing McKay to add defensively. "Katie's words, not mine. She said if I could find out she'd make it 'worth my while'." Rodney appeared thoughtful for a minute. "Although, she may have been joking, you can never tell with women. She did say something about it being a 'hot topic' around the water cooler -"

Sheppard pushed the blanket off him, and got up tiredly, moving to the recessed sink on the wall, splashing water against his face and toweling off before turning back to Rodney. "You okay, Rodney, 'cause you're acting weird."

McKay looked at him steadily. "Define weird. That's such a subjective word."

"Watching me sleep while you work, eating a Danish, thought you hated those, and babbling about my hair. I'm sure there's more, I just didn't see it."

"I'm here to rescue you," Rodney admitted, his jaw jutted out stubbornly and he put the Danish down on a table nearby. "And I do like Danish, as long as it isn't stale, which you have to admit, the first year, supplies were more than a little lean, don't you think?"

Rescue him? It would have been funny if it hadn't been true, but seeing how he'd been planning on getting McKay to help him bust out of here, it was almost scary that Rodney knew him that well.

Before he could formulate a response out of his muddled thoughts, the room filled with music from Mission Impossible, coming from McKay's laptop.

"Are you nuts?" growled Sheppard, striding over and hitting the mute button – or trying to, because Rodney pulled the laptop back, and to the side, making him miss. He tried again, only for McKay to pull another move. Giving up, John hissed, "Do you want to bring the guards down on us?"

"Sound proof room, Colonel," McKay said. "It's mood music."

"I don't need mood music, I need to get out of here!"

At that exact moment, McKay grinned and hit a button on the computer with exaggerated precision, and the room filled with the wails of the alarm that the city did so well. Smugly, Rodney asked John, "You were saying?"

"What did you do?"

"I told Atlantis there was a viral agent, and the city just put itself into quarantine."

Sheppard arched his eyebrow, "Impressive." He thumbed at the door. "But what about thug 1 and thug 2?"

Shutting the computer, McKay sighed and dramatically said, "O ye of little faith." He got up and went to the panel, entered some commands, and the door slid open to reveal – nothing. No guards.

Sheppard peered suspiciously at the empty hallway, before turning to Rodney. "What'd you do? Or do I want to know?"

McKay's face flushed minimally. "You don't want to know," he said. "The point is that there's no one to interrupt us. So, come with me, Colonel, and let's take a trip."

A trip? John didn't want to take a trip, figuratively or literally, in fact, all he wanted to do was escape to a Jumper, lock himself there, and try to wrestle the remaining demons to his subconscious, never to rear their ugly head again – at least, not for a long long time.

"McKay, look, I appreciate the spring, but I want to be alone now."

"Wrong, Colonel. I'm risking my position as head scientist by organizing your little 'prison break', so if you don't mind, humor me." McKay guided him down another hall and into a transporter.

Sheppard almost went his own way, regardless of the help Rodney had given him, but there was something almost feral in McKay's eyes. "Where are we going?" he asked, reluctantly giving in, for now…

Tour guide McKay decided to rear _his_ ugly head, and Rodney pulled them up short at a door. "First, we're going to drop off my computer, but secondly, this room belongs to me." The door opened, despite the wailing alarms. "And, as your 'Ghost of Christmas Past' I want you to realize how many times you've saved my life."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes, but followed into McKay's room. "How are you getting these doors to open if the city is in quarantine?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"It was really quite ingenious," crowed Rodney, as he put the computer on the desk. "I've got Atlantis believing we're not really here, yet coded the doors to open to us wherever we need to go, including the transportation devices."

"Ghosts in the city," murmured Sheppard, getting more of McKay's meaning every minute. "Look, you're not going to take me around and point out everything that wouldn't be if it weren't for me, are you? 'Cause isn't that more like a Ghost of Christmas Future?"

"It's my idea, and I say past because all of this happened in your past." Rodney looked exasperated. "Why do you always make things more complicated then they are?"

"The same reason you make things into 'oh no, we're all gonna die' every time something goes wrong," retorted Sheppard sharply. "I'm not gonna do this."

"Yes, you will, or I'll end the quarantine, and you can go back and sit in your little pity party, and talk to Kate till she pries out everything that is Colonel Sheppard, and let Carson keep you drugged," McKay snapped, and held up a small remote. "This is all it takes, Sheppard. One push."

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" Sheppard said it like he meant it, because right now, he kind of did.

McKay didn't look insulted in the least. Instead, he looked almost flattered. "I can be," he admitted. "But so can you, now let's go, places to see and we've only got about an hour before Zelenka figures out what I've done and how to undo it."

The next stop was outside Weir's quarters. John looked at the door, just as the sirens cut-off. McKay was sober.

"You've saved Elizabeth more than once. You know it, and she knows it. Can you imagine what might have happened if you hadn't kept Koyla from taking her through the gate?"

Sheppard's mind retreated back to that day. The Genii invasion. He'd killed a lot of people that day, and done so without a flicker of remorse, but it'd come later. Sixty people had been dematerialized and gone from the universe by his push of a button. He'd done what he'd had to do, to save Elizabeth and McKay, and he knew he'd do it again.

His mouth went a little dry. "If I'd never stepped through the gate in the first place, she wouldn't have been at risk."

McKay snorted in disbelief. "And people think I'm egotistical?"

"What?" snapped Sheppard, annoyed at being patently insulted. "It's true. _I_ picked up the locket. _I_ set off a chain of events that led us to that point. It was me, McKay. No one else shares the blame for that."

"Colonel, would the wraith still be here if you hadn't came on this expedition?"

"Yeah, but -"

"No, no buts, Sheppard. Think of it like this – the Pegasus galaxy is a big pond, and the wraith are the 'big fish' on the block. In a pond, you have a finite space, and regardless of where the smaller fish are in the pond, eventually, they'll run into the 'big fish', and if they don't know to be watching, they'll be eaten." McKay explained angrily. "Your screw-up with the locket wasn't intentional, but it set off a chain of events that ended in us escaping total annihilation by the wraith. What do you think would've happened if a Hive ship showed up to a happily filled city full of little Earthlings, with no idea of how big and bad the fish up in the sky was? And what it would've meant for Earth?"

Sheppard hadn't thought of it that way. He'd always looked at the chain of events in the worst way possible. He knew what would've happened if it'd gone McKay's fictional path, and the effect was stunning. He felt almost driven to his knees at the consequences. The expedition would've been wiped out, and before all of them were sucked lifeless, someone would've given up Earth's location. The Stargate would've been left intact, allowing them a portal to Earth. The wraith would've been able to find ZPM's, or some way of getting to their home. And then Earth, unprepared because there had been no way of contacting the SGC, would've been at the mercy of beings who would've embarked on a feeding frenzy.

He suddenly felt very cold. "Disaster," he whispered to himself.

McKay nodded, remaining silent, but he started walking off, expecting Sheppard to follow.

And surprisingly, Sheppard did.

McKay took him past door after door. Sometimes he offered specific names and events, not that Sheppard didn't already remember, but maybe Rodney thought he needed someone else to point out the obvious. Except, it hadn't been obvious. He'd never considered events in the light that McKay was now illuminating.

Cadman, Zelenka, Beckett – a lot of personnel from the nanovirus, names he barely knew, but then McKay brought him up short before another door, and Sheppard almost turned and ran. He knew this room. The memorial room, chapel, reflection or meditation, whatever you wanted to call it.

"I've gone along with this, Rodney, but I'm not -" he drifted off. He wanted to say he'd go anywhere but in there, because in there were memorials to people he'd personally put in the proverbial ground through his own actions. And one that wasn't there yet, but might be soon. Ford.

"You will," vowed McKay, releasing the door, and pulling him in.

Why he let Rodney do that, he had no idea, except that maybe his mind recognized the need. He was tugged all the way to the memorial stones. They were created from the rubble of Atlantis, and the meaning of hope and beauty from death and destruction wasn't lost on him. He knew it was Elizabeth who had suggested it.

"Rodney," raggedly he tried to step back, "Don't do this -"

"Face it, Colonel, before it eats you up so badly that soon I'm placing another stone in here, this time with your name on it."

Sheppard noticed for the first time just how bleak McKay's features had become. He hadn't taken the time to consider the affect of watching your team leader – friend – falling apart in front of you, would have. The air was thickened between them, and he swallowed the lump painfully out of his throat.

"I killed him, Rodney. Did you know that?"

"The wraith did. They are responsible, not you."

Sheppard thought McKay misunderstood. "Not the wraith. Me. I held that gun, got Sumner in my sights, and I pulled the trigger," he said coldly. "Do you know what it's like to kill another expedition member with your own hand? I can't do it again, Rodney. I can't, and God forgive me, because Ford may be the ruin of us all because I couldn't."

But Rodney had understood. "He was already dead, Sheppard. I read the report, I talked to Ford. What was left was a husk. There wasn't any chance for Sumner, and you knew that. He knew that. The only outcome would've been compromising Earth if you hadn't shot." The anger burned low in McKay's voice, and when he continued his own was haunted. "And I do know what it's like. Gall killed himself because of me. Because I wouldn't leave him and go help you. He knew that if he were gone, I'd go, so he blew his brains away. So you see, Colonel, you aren't the only one with blood on your hands."

"Oh, hell," muttered Sheppard. He found a chair and dropped into it, suddenly feeling the weight of a thousand worlds on his back. "How do you go on from here, Rodney?"

McKay sat down beside him. "You just do, because you have to. Is there anyone you'd trust more to do your job?"

Sheppard smiled painfully, and shook his head. "No," he admitted.

"Then you do it because of that. And you do it because the living depend on you. Maybe, even, we can save Ford. Remember those fancy stun pistols? As much as it pains me to admit, that's a good idea. Maybe, where there's life, there's hope. And Ford still has a life, and though he's a little – psychotic," Rodney coughed slightly over the word, "-he's mostly sane, as much as any of us, not including me of course, because my sanity has never been in doubt -"

"And please, can you get over this breakdown because being this nice and considerate is using up my supply for the year, and I still have my job performance review coming up, and Elizabeth threatened to take away my supply of coffee if I got anything less than acceptable." McKay had a look of disgust on his face, "Do you know what they consider on those evaluations? Peer relations – as if I have to treat my underlings better. Hello, _underlings_. I chose science so I wouldn't have to be polite."

"Where's the benefit of being in charge if you can't be an -"

"McKay," interrupted John.

Irritably, he snapped, "What?"

"I got it," said Sheppard. And he meant it.

Between Ronon's simple acceptance of the way things were, and McKay's insight into other…things, he felt some level of peace inside now that hadn't been there before. The nightmares would probably still happen, but he wasn't afraid anymore.

Just then, the comms crackled and a voice boomed through the city. "Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay, report to the infirmary, STAT. I repeat, Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay, report to the infirmary, STAT."

McKay paled. "Elizabeth," he whispered. "Oh, no...Zelenka was faster than I'd thought."

"You didn't have a back-up plan?" asked Sheppard, surprised. "Everyone knows you always have a back-up plan."

"I didn't see you volunteering one," accused McKay.

"So, basically, we're dead."

Rodney nodded miserably.

OoO

"Were you daft, man?" shouted Beckett.

Rodney cringed, but his anger wasn't easily cowed. "Oh, excuse me, I missed the part where you helped him…you know, about the time you started treating Sheppard was about the time he started rapidly declining, and I don't believe in coincidences!"

Sheppard slunk lower in the bed, and tried to make sure neither one remembered he was here.

Carson turned a shade of red that John had to admit was pretty impressive. "Rodney, are you insinuating that I made the Colonel worse?"

"If the shoe fits," shrugged McKay.

"May I remind you that your suggestion almost landed Sheppard in a very compromising state?" Beckett said, his voice so cold Sheppard could've swore the temperature dropped ten degrees.

"At least it didn't make him a reincarnation of the kid from the Exorcist!"

If Sheppard hadn't been so tired, he probably would've laughed at that one, but as it were, the sleep he'd started getting was only fueling the fires of exhaustion, as his body lapped it up eagerly and begged for more.

He dimly heard the ranting continue, but his mind shut down, and he felt his eyes shut. The sounds of his friends ushered him into a deep dreamless sleep –

"- of all the egotistical, idiotic, narcissistic -"

"Shut up, Carson," ordered McKay, looking past the doctor to the bed behind him.

"What?" spluttered Beckett.

With an insufferably pleased expression, Rodney pointed over Carson's shoulder. "He's sleeping."

Beckett turned abruptly, and realized that Sheppard had indeed fallen asleep, and the most amazing thing of all, was the soft smile that remained on his lips.

"Aye," said Beckett quietly. "That he is."

The End

AN: Okay, you all probably knew the end was coming, and here it is! Thanks so much for taking the time to stop and read our slice of 'Sheppard's mental breakdown after the rough events of season one and start of season two'! It's been wonderful reading the reactions, and I don't think it's possible to say enough how much it's a thrill to get those reviews and comments. Thanks again! Merlin7 and Kodiak Bear


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